


find your way to me

by lightfighter08



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anya and Lexa are sisters, Character Death, F/F, Foster Care, Griffin family bonding, Ideal father Jake Griffin, Past Child Abuse, less-disaster-than-usual mother Abby, occasionally obnoxious Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 129,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightfighter08/pseuds/lightfighter08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: When sisters Anya and Lexa come into Abby's ER one night, the physician knows there's no way she can let the girls go after seeing Lexa's alarming injuries. A spontaneous decision to take them in will change their, the Griffins', and their daughter Clarke's lives in ways none of them could ever have guessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's my first work in the fandom! I've been so impressed by all the talent here I wanted to contribute something too. This will be a long road, with a bumpy start and a few storms to weather...but it should hopefully be worth it.

“This might hurt a little, okay?”

Abby waited for the acknowledgement before pressing down gently on the deep bruising on the girl’s side, carefully watching her reaction. A quickly inhaled breath, and then nothing more, the girl’s expression returning to its stoic default.

“How was that?”

Her patient returned her gaze calmly, her green eyes betraying no emotion. “Not too bad.”

Abby raised her brows. “Are you sure? This bruising isn’t pretty.”

“She _said_ she was fine.”

Abby turned to the other girl, the one who had accompanied her patient -- she was still without a name for either of them -- into the ER twenty minutes ago. She was a bit older, maybe, in her late teens, and unlike the calm exterior of her counterpart, was visibly angry, gritting her teeth, her sharp cheekbones and narrowed eyes only making her look fiercer. She’d been aggressive from the moment she and her - friend? sister? - had made their way inside, demanding to see a doctor and flatly refusing to provide any identification or insurance information in the same breath.

The resulting argument between her and the long-suffering nurse on duty had drawn Abby’s attention. She’d been nearing the end of a mercifully calm shift, the ER quieter than usual; with half the doctors out on vacation, travelling with their kids in the last days of the summer break, and a noticeable dearth of patients, the ruckus in the waiting room had easily caught her ear.

She’d quickly taken in the scene -- the flatly refusing nurse shaking her head, a loud, angry blonde teenager pounding her fist on the counter separating them as she supported a pale, pained looking brunette with her other arm -- before striding in.

“What’s going on here?”

The nurse had turned to her, looking a bit relieved. “The, er, young lady here is, ah, _requesting_ that her friend sees a doctor, but refuses to provide me with any identification or even tell me what happened.”

Abby looked to the ‘young lady’ in question. “We can help your friend, but you need to help us out a little, too.”

Her gaze was fiercely returned. “Look, lady, I don’t who the hell you are, but-”

“I’m Dr. Griffin,” Abby replied easily, her voice calm. “I’m the physician in charge of this shift. Who are you?”

The girl blinked. “You’re a doctor?”

Abby nodded, resisting the urge to point at where “Abigail Griffin, MD” was clearly embroidered on her lab coat.

The girl took a breath, adjusting her arm where it supported the other girl, who had yet to raise her head. Abby’s concern had risen a notch -- how conscious even was she? -- before her attention was recaptured.

“If you’re a doctor, then _help_ her. Isn’t that your job?”

“I would love to, but we need some information before we can-”

But the surprise that had momentarily dulled the girl’s fury had clearly worn off. “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal, why can’t you just-”

“There are _procedures_ , you need to understand-”

But in her intensity, the girl had turned from the counter to fully face Abby, and in the process, jostled her ward; the brunette let out an involuntary hiss and raised her head. Abby felt the words die in her throat. The girl’s right eye, concealed until now, was swollen shut, the area surrounding it discolored and bruised.

She quickly bowed her head once more, but there was no hiding what Abby had seen. Abby stood for a moment, argument forgotten as she thought, before nodding sharply at the first girl, who stood tensely, clearly waiting for the doctor to make up her mind. “Come with me.”

All of which found her in this small examination room, an angry blonde breathing down her neck as she examined her monosyllabic patient under harsh fluorescent lights, her suspicions growing all the while.

“Is there a reason you’re staring at me?”

Abby blinked, her thoughts scattering as the blonde in question stared at her, looking wary. “I-- no. _But_ , I’d prefer if my patient spoke for herself.”

The girl scoffed and looked away. Abby redirected her attention to her patient, who was watching her intently from her place on the exam table. “I’m going to examine the area one more time, okay?”

Another slight nod. Abby probed the bruising again, trying to keep a light touch; her patient remained preternaturally calm for all of it. Finally, she stood back. “How severe is the pain? Are you having any difficulty breathing, or experiencing shortness of breath?”

The girl shook her head, a tad too quickly for Abby’s liking. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I mean, it’s a bit sore, but nothing like that.”

Abby watched her, frowning. “Right. Well, in any case, I don’t think any of your ribs are cracked, just bruised, in which case the best treatment is just rest and pain medication as necessary. As for this-”

She raised a hand to indicate the girl’s black eye, only for the girl to lean sharply away, the movement sudden and a break from her determined serenity. She quickly righted herself, looking, for a brief second, annoyed with herself, but Abby had already filed away the motion. She glanced at the girl’s friend to see her frowning darkly, her jaw tensed, but remaining silent for now.

After an awkward moment, she resumed her line of speech. “The black eye. Painful of course, but not necessarily overly concerning. Are you experiencing any dizziness or headache?”

The girl shook her head. “Good. In that case, we need to get a cold compress on the eye to reduce the swelling, and ibuprofen for the pain. And, of course, rest, for all your injuries.”

The girl’s shoulders rose slightly, but she said nothing. Abby took a step back away from the table, then, and folded her arms. “That’s all I can tell for now. I’d like to keep you under observation for a bit longer. But before that…” She glanced from her patient, who was staring determinedly at the floor with her good eye, to the blonde, who was now, if possible, looking even more tense. “...who wants to tell me what happened?”

“She fell.” “I got in a fight.” The two spoke at once, then just as quickly glared at each other. Abby watched them silently argue, unimpressed.

Her patient finally spoke. “What she means is...I got in a fight, and then, er, fell.” Abby looked over to the blonde for confirmation, just in time to see the girl raise her eyes to the ceiling, as if seeking divine intervention.

“You fought...and then fell?” Abby tried not to let her skepticism color her words too strongly. She wasn’t sure how well she succeeded.

The girl nodded firmly, her expression grim. “That’s right. And you said I would be fine, so thank you for the help, and can I go now?”

“Not so fast,” Abby cut in. She looked between the girls once more -- both avoided her eyes -- before sighing deeply, shoving her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Look, girls. I’ve been in the ER for a long time. I’m not exactly new to this. So how about we cut the bullshit and you two tell me what _really_ happened?”

The girl on the exam table straightened, a streak of some emotion flashing in her good eye. “I told you what happened already. I got in a fight.” She didn’t bother adding the part about falling.

Abby nodded slowly. “And perhaps you did. But, like I said, I’ve been in the ER for a long time, seen all sorts of injuries. Including many fistfights. And I’d like to know why you were fighting with a grown man, likely one much bigger than you.”

The effect of her words on the room was instantaneous. Both girls immediately tensed, glancing at each other and then away. Abby watched as the first hint of true fear entered her patient’s eye, and tried to swallow against the bitter taste in her mouth. It was in situations like this that she absolutely despised being right.

“What- what are you talking about? I wasn’t fighting a man, it wasn’t-”

“His fists. They left behind clear imprints, the bruises.” Abby tried hard to keep her tone clinically dry.

“I, I don’t know what you mean-”

Abby took her hands from her pockets and lowered her voice, trying not to spook her or the other girl further. “Look, I’m a doctor. I can help you, both of you. There are things we can do in situations like this.”

“We don’t need help!” The friend rose from where she had sitting, coming to hover defensively by the other girl, who for her part was staring intently at Abby, her expression unreadable. “We’re fine, everything’s _fine_.”

Abby tried not to react at the blonde’s clear panic. “I understand that you may not want to hear what I’m saying, girls...but if you won’t tell me the truth, then you need to know that in situations like this I’m obligated by law to alert the police.”

That did it. At the mention of law enforcement, both girls went utterly still. Then, the blonde abruptly turned on Abby, beginning to advance on her menacingly, her eyes wild. “Don’t talk about things you have no idea about- don’t- we’re so close, we’re-”

Abby took a step back, feeling her control of the situation begin to slip, the small examination room feeling even smaller.  

But before the girl could come any closer, a sharp voice rang out commandingly. “ _Anya_! Stop!” Her patient had forced herself to sit upright, her eye blazing.

The blonde - Anya - froze, before her expression crumpled; she pressed her fists to her eyes in utter despair, hunching forward.

The girl on the table extended a hand. “Come here.”

Abby watched as Anya did as she was told. When Anya reached her, sitting on the edge of the table, she folded into herself, swiping angrily at her eyes until the other girl wrapped an arm around her. Anya went willingly, pressing her face into the injured girl’s shoulder, and though Abby saw her wince at the pressure against her ribs, she said nothing. Abby, distinctly uncomfortable, had the sudden feeling that she was invading a private moment, her exam room or no.  

Her patient, after a moment of watching Anya, finally looked up to regard Abby. Abby was struck by the calm acceptance in her eyes, and in that moment realized that though Anya may the older of two, it was this girl that was the duo’s true, enduring strength. “Please, Dr. Griffin. You can’t tell the police. They’ll make us leave the home. They could separate us, and- we’re so close, doctor. We’re so close to being free.”

 

**

The truth came out, her patient, _Lexa_ , sketching out their story in a removed, almost clinical manner. The two were sisters, Anya the older, and Lexa, the younger. Their parents had died when they were children, and, with no other surviving relatives apparent, they had officially been made wards of the state, getting dutifully subsumed into foster care, assigned a case number and social worker and all the rest that government bureaucracy had to offer. There had been hope, Lexa informed Abby emotionlessly, that the two might get adopted early on, as they were young and acceptably cute, but it quickly became clear that potential adopters found Anya’s temper and mood swings - all of which had grown much worse after their parents’ death - off putting, and any thoughts of Lexa being adopted by herself were quickly put to rest after her first and last meltdown in the social worker’s office.

And so they had stayed in the system, bumping around from one foster home to the next. They quickly grew used to depending on no one but each other, the constant switch from school to school, to foster parent to foster parent, making it clear that the only consistency in their lives would come from the other. Some homes were good, some bad, and some, like the one they were in now, difficult and ugly in an altogether different way.

Abby felt her breath catch at that. “What do you mean?” She suspected she knew very well what the girl meant, but she wanted - needed - to hear it confirmed aloud.

Lexa looked at her, her expression wry, though with hints of truer, darker emotions at the edges. When she didn’t immediately speak, Anya, who had remained silent until now, opted to answer. “What do you think she means? The same old story. Horrible deadbeat couple signs up to foster, when they really just plan to use the kids as free checks from the government to bankroll their booze, or drugs, or both. When it turns out the kids have needs that someway conflict with this, shit can get ugly. No different this time around.”

“So you mean…” Abby gestured weakly at Lexa’s bruises, unable to make herself finish.

Lexa shrugged, a picture of forced nonchalance. “Foster dad is an asshole most of the time, but even more so drunk. Our foster sibling got in his way, or so he thought. I stepped in before he could do anything to the boy.”

Abby fought against her rising nausea, disgust seeping through her. “Why haven’t you told your social worker about this?!”

Lexa scoffed. “And risk us getting separated? It’s happened before.” She looked fiercely at Abby. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Abby slowly lowered herself into the seat Anya had vacated. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she seen ugly things in the ER, but it never became any easier. “And your plan was to just...what, let this keep happening?”

Lexa glared at her. “I realize that it may not seem like it, doctor, but typically both my sister and I are more than capable of taking care of ourselves. And in any case, we’re almost out.” She sighed at Abby’s look of confusion. “I’m sixteen, but Anya will be eighteen in ten months. And then she can become my legal guardian and we can _leave_.”

Abby looked to Anya. “Where will you go?”

“Anywhere is better than where we’re at. At least we’ll finally be by ourselves,” she replied, shrugging.

Abby sighed, feeling a headache begin to form at her temples. “Look, I can appreciate that, and understand what you’ve told me, but there’s no way I can, in good conscience, let you go back to your foster home.”

Anya sat up straight on the exam table, pulling free from Lexa. “What?! Did you not just hear what she said? We’re almost done! Calling the police will just ruin everything!”

“A lot can happen in ten months,” Abby replied, standing determinedly. “And I’m a little concerned by how you two are treating this. I understand that the foster care system is deeply flawed, and this is unfortunately more common that it should ever have been, but it’s still _abuse_.”

The girls flinched at the word, and Abby felt sorry for a moment before forcing herself on. “So, no. I can’t just look the other way. People like your so-called foster father should be behind bars, not taking care of _children_. But I’m not going to call the police. And least, not immediately.”

Lexa looked at her cautiously. “Then what are you going to do?”

Abby pulled her cellphone from her pocket. “I’m going to call your social worker. You’re not staying there another night, and you’re not going to be separated.”

Anya opened her mouth, her eyebrows furrowing, but Lexa silenced her with a hand on her arm. “Then where will we stay?”

Abby paused, before charging ahead with what her subconscious had already seemed to decide. “Me. You’re going to stay with me.”

And Jake said she was never spontaneous.

 

***

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a beautiful lady calling me this late at night?”

Abby felt her lips curl up despite herself, pressing her phone closer to her ear. “Maybe I just wanted to hear you say that.”

Jake chuckled, the sound warming her as it always did. “Hey, baby. Everything okay? I thought you’d be done with your shift by now.”

Her good humor dissipated as she remembered her reason for calling, and she let out a sigh as she leaned back against the brick wall of the hospital, the sparse cars scattered through the parking lot her only company. “Yeah, about that. I...Jake, something happened, and I, I did something.”

She heard him shift, and imagined him sitting up straight from where he had been no doubt slouched on the den sofa. The faint noises of cheering in the background she’d been able to hear - probably some soccer game - cut off. “What happened?” Concern soaked his words. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

Abby filled him in as quickly and thoroughly as she could. Lexa and Anya, making their way into the ER. The refusal to identify themselves, the caginess and reticence. The fist-shaped bruises, her refusal to accept their words, and everything that followed.

A long silence followed her words, and she felt herself growing anxious. “Maybe I was too heavy-handed, but I just couldn’t-”

“No, you did right. There’s no way those girls can stay there.”

She let out a long breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, feeling weak with relief. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“It’s the only thing _to_ say,” he replied, his voice sure and certain. “God, just thinking about it...”

“I know.”

“So...what now?”

Abby paused. Here went nothing. “Well, Jake, I- I promised them I would make sure they wouldn’t be separated again, that they’d be safe until Anya becomes legal.”

“I see…?”

“So, well, this is where I did something. I sort of told them they could live with us.”

Another pause followed her words, even longer, and this time she couldn’t restrain her nervous babble. “Oh, Jake, maybe I shouldn’t have but you should’ve seen those girls, and it would only be ten months-”

“Abby.”

“-I had to do it, Jake, I couldn’t let them go back there or-”

“ _Abby_.”

This time, she managed to cut herself off. “Yes?”

“If you thought it was best, then of course they can stay with us. Nothing else to do in this situation.”

She smiled, relief coursing through her even more strongly. Her husband remained the best man she knew. “Thank you, Jake.”

“There’s nothing to thank. I should say, though…they’re wards of the state. Their social worker can’t exactly just let them live wherever.”

“About that.”

His tone changed. Sounding wry, he said, “Let me guess. You already got the worker’s number out of those girls, called her up in the middle of the night, scared the hell out of her with your doctor voice and somehow got a rush order in to have us approved.”

She let out an only slightly guilty sounding laugh. “Something...similar to that may have happened, yes. We should know about our approval by afternoon tomorrow.”

“Jesus, woman,” he murmured, sounding impressed, “Remind me never to get on the wrong side of a debate with you.”

“You got it.”

“Well, that’s that taken care of. But, it occurs to me now...how are the girls- what did you say their names are?”

“Anya and Lexa.”

“Right. Do they even _want_ to live with us?”

She winced. “In...a manner of speaking.”

_“Are you insane?” Anya stared at her as if the girl was quite certain of the fact; Lexa, sitting next to her on the examination table, didn’t bother adding her voice, her expression saying enough as it was._

_Abby felt herself redden. “No, actually. Just trying do the right thing here.”_

_“The right thing, of course,” Anya snorted. “Because your intentions are obviously so pure.”_

_“_ Excuse _me-”_

_“What the hell are you getting out of this?” Anya demanded, getting straight to the point. “Whatever else you may think about us, we’re not some goddamn charity cases-”_

_“I never said you were,” Abby contested hotly. “But this solution, while perhaps a little unorthodox, could actually work very well. God knows we have the space-”_

_“We? Who’s we?” If anything, Anya’s voice had only grown more suspicious._

_“My husband, Jake, and I. And our daughter, Clarke. She’s fifteen, not so much different from you two. And if you want to know why I’m doing this…” She hesitated before forcing herself to express the thought that was painful to even consider. “It’s because it’s what I hope someone would do for her if they were here in my place.”_

_An awkward pause followed, the duo staring at her. Finally, Anya broke the silence. “Your daughter.”_

_“Yes…?”_

_Anya didn’t say anything, turning instead to exchange a long look with Lexa. After an increasingly stressful minute, she turned back to Abby. “Alright, doc, sure,” she said, sounding skeptical as she shrugged. “We’re willing to stay with you,” she held up a forestalling hand at Abby’s clear relief, “Not that it matters. Our social worker has to clear stuff like this.”_

_Abby smiled then. “Do you have their number?”_

_“Yeah, so?”_

_Abby held out her phone. “Then give it to me, and let me worry about the rest.”_

Jake chuckled. “They sound like they’ve got the fire in them, that’s for sure.”

“They do.” She thought back to Anya all but charging her, hands in fists. “They definitely do.”

“We’ll be happy to have them. You did the right thing here, Abs.”

“I wish there didn’t even need to be a situation where I had to do something,” Abby confessed, sighing.

“We can’t change the past. All we can do for them is try to provide some calm. Safety.”

“I know. I want to give that to them. They’re strong, and have been through a lot, but they’re still _kids_.”

His tone changed then, and she could tell he was thinking. “Look, I’m sure you have some more arrangements to make over there. Will they be coming tonight?”

“No, I want to keep Lexa here overnight for observation, just make sure that eye opens up. Something tells me Anya will insist on staying with her.”

“From what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t be surprised. In that case...let me be the one to tell Clarke about our new houseguests.”

Clarke. Of course. Her daughter was a good person, generous and with a big heart...but this was a big change, and would be an adjustment for all of them - especially for her fifteen year old accustomed to being the sole teenager in the house. Jake had always had a special bond with their girl, and she didn’t doubt that he’d know exactly how to handle this. “Yes, definitely...and Jake?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s Griffins versus the world out there. Of course I’ve got your back.”

She laughed, and still smiling, ended the call. But as Abby looked out on the parking lot, the humid breeze ruffling her hair, she felt her temporary good humor go as quickly as it had come. She’d done the right thing, she believed that and held no regret for her spontaneity, but she also wasn’t naive; this would be a difficult adjustment for all of them, perhaps most of all for Lexa and Anya themselves.

Those girls had survived a system that was infamous for its flaws and blind spots, its cracks through which untold numbers had fallen through. They had survived it, relying on each other, and had almost made it through. But surviving did not equal living, and if their little family could give them some respite and maybe even a glimpse of what life could be, then that was what they would do.

She returned her phone to her pocket and made her way through the automatic doors of the ER, her gait steady and determined. There was work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go. Here's hoping Abby isn't in over her head...next chapter we'll be meeting Clarke and see what she thinks of all this.
> 
> Also, I should probably note that I am neither a doctor nor an expert on the foster care system lol, so please excuse any resulting inaccuracies. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think so far! Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thrilled to bits by the response the first chapter of this story received; thank you all so much for your kind comments and subscriptions. I was so enthused I finished this chapter a bit earlier than expected, so here you are! In general, I hope to stick to a weekly updating schedule, work and RL allowing. I hope you'll stick with me and enjoy the story!

Lexa’s ribs hurt. Her eye hurt, too, but it wasn’t exactly her first shiner and the swelling had already gone down a lot from that cold compress the nurse gave her last night. Her ribs, though – she hadn’t lied when she’d told Abby that she could breathe okay, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sore as hell. The painkillers had helped a little, but she didn’t want to take too many; she hated feeling dependent on anything. She grimaced as her side, as if aware her thoughts were on it, gave a painful tinge, and she tried to turn a bit without disturbing Anya. It probably wasn’t necessary; both of them could sleep through just about anything, years of living in too-small and over-crowded foster homes desensitizing them to everything up to (and maybe including) an earthquake.

She successfully adjusted her position, and, as expected, Anya didn’t stir from her spot wedged next to her on the hospital bed. It wasn’t their first time sharing a bed, either. Finally comfortable, she laid back and sighed as she stared up at the tiled ceiling of the hospital. The last twenty-four hours had brought a dizzying array of changes, changes that, if they were to be believed, meant that she and Anya would be moving out of Frank’s house – which was fine by her. A burst of grim satisfaction still shot through her whenever she thought of their little altercation; fine, the bastard may have gotten in a few cheap shots, but she liked to think she gave as good as she got. Aden, though…she felt a stab of fear when she thought of the boy; she hoped fervently he had gotten himself out of sight. He was a smart kid, and good in tough situations. It would have to be enough – with her flat on her back as she was, there was little she could do for him. She’d have to ask the doctor about it.

At the thought of the doctor – who had told Lexa to call her Abby about five times, as if _that_ was going to happen – she squeezed her eyes shut. Much easier to dwell on leaving Frank’s place behind than consider where it was they were leaving _for_. Both her and Anya were rather adept at sizing people up, knowing the score by the end of their third sentence; years of being paraded past hordes of potential adopters, social workers, foster parents and all the rest had honed their skills in that area. The doctor seemed fairly straight-forward, and Lexa knew already what Anya must have thought when she accepted her offer last night: rich lady, no doubt a bit of the bleeding heart type, with a savior complex a mile wide and the calm certainty that things would go her way, the kind of confidence that only those who came from wealth and privilege were lucky enough to possess; life had never given them a reason to assume otherwise. (For her and Anya, meanwhile, life had been beating them up behind a dumpster since they were about ten.) Between that and having a teenage daughter, there’d been no way she’d been able to resist the admittedly pathetic picture she and Anya must have made last night.

A not especially flattering analysis, but one with which Lexa would usually have been inclined to agree.  

So maybe Anya was a bit cynical. A tad bitter. They both were. It wasn’t as if the world hadn’t given them enough reason not to be. She shifted uncomfortably. Normally, she admitted to herself, she would have been in full agreement with Anya’s judgment of the doctor…but here, now, she couldn’t bring herself to do it; her thoughts kept circling back to the doctor’s actions last night, the ones that didn’t perfectly jive with the box they’d placed her in. She’d been pretty out of it when Anya had dragged her into the ER, but she did vaguely remember bits of her sister’s argument with the nurse, and then, the doctor’s arrival, and calm handling of the situation. She’d let them in without ID or insurance, and treated Lexa like a person, examining her gently, and then, when she could have taken their words at face value and let them disappear into the night, had opted instead to take the harder, scarier route, challenging them and _then_ , when the truth came out, taking it without batting an eye. And then, and then — after Anya had nearly jumped her — had turned around and opened her home to them.

Lexa couldn’t figure it out.

“God, will you stop? Think any harder and you’ll bust your brain.”

Lexa rolled her good eye. She _knew_ Anya had been faking, that little shit. “Is that what happened to you?”

Anya reached over, eyes still closed, and flicked Lexa on the forehead. “Ow, dammit! I’m injured!”

She turned indignantly in time to see her sister’s smirk. “I forgot.” Promptly belying her words, though, Anya opened her eyes and raised herself on an elbow to lean over Lexa, smoothing her hand over the same area she’d flicked with surprising gentleness. “How’s the eye?”

Lexa shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“And the ribs?”

“Same.”

Anya rolled her eyes, slumping back to lay on the bed. “You don’t have to act all tough with _me_ , you know.”

“Fine. I’m sore as hell. Happy?”

Anya snorted. “Want another painkiller? Nurse left a ton. I’m surprised she left so many in the care of young hoodlums as ourselves, actually.”

“I’ve had enough.”

Anya didn’t push the point; Lexa knew she would understand.

They let the silence stretch on for a moment, both comfortable in the quiet and with each other. Finally, though, Anya broached the subject on both of their minds. “So…”

Lexa didn’t take the bait. “So…”

Anya huffed in annoyance. “We’re really doing this? Moving in with doctor do-gooder and her husband and two point five kids?”

“She actually only has a daughter.”

“You know what I mean.”

Lexa sighed. “I do. And I’ll take it over the alternative.”

Anya stared at the ceiling; Lexa knew without looking that her face would be set in its usual pensive frown. “Yeah.”

“It’s only for ten months.”

“You say that like it’s ten _days_ ,” Anya replied, her voice dark.

“We’ve been in places far worse for far longer,” Lexa reminded her.

Anya just grunted.

After a few moments, when it became apparent she wasn’t going to say anything, Lexa reached between them and took her hand; Anya allowed the motion without comment, her firm grip saying it all.

Because Lexa knew that Anya’s hesitance wasn’t about the doctor and her All-American family, not really. That was just a small part of the abstract fear that both of them had endured countless times growing up: the vague, undefined dread of what awaited them at the next home, the next family, the next set of “parents.” Would it be the one that would finally break them, or separate them for good? Lexa thought back with discomfort to the doctor’s fierce indignation at her injuries, and her gentleness while examining them. What kind of family would someone like that be a part of? She realized then that she wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready to find out. Because even scarier than the thought of a new, even worse foster home, was the idea of a foster home unlike any they’d ever lived in before. And she had no idea how to even begin dealing with _that_.

Anya’s voice tore her from her increasingly stressed musings. “It’s just ten months. Right?”   

Lexa tightened her grip on her sister’s hand. “Ten months.”

 

**

Jake Griffin was a man of routine. Up by seven, at the office by eight, back at five on the dot, just in time to help Abby with dinner, and then eating together until she had to leave for her night shift at the ER. Afterwards, chess or a soccer game on TV or just chatting with Clarke. The weekends were no different; by eight AM he could be found in the kitchen, sipping coffee and scrolling through his email, occasionally glancing through the newspaper at his side, their continued subscription an old habit he couldn’t bring himself to break.

His daughter, too, kept to a routine, albeit one slightly different from his own. She was something of a night owl, especially during the ongoing summer vacation, and could be counted on to emerge from her room anywhere from ten AM to noon, usually accompanied by a great deal of overdramatic squinting at the bright daylight that filled the house and emitting various disgruntled noises that wouldn’t die down until she’d had a cup or two of coffee and become reconciled to the fact that she’d rejoined the world of the living.  (He’d bemoaned the fact that his fifteen year-old was way too young to be have a caffeine dependence more than once, but each time was shut down by a flat utterance of, “AP Physics.”)

Today was, in that regard, a summer day like any other. In almost every other way, of course, it was completely different. He glanced at his watch, the heavy stainless steel timepiece a cherished gift passed down from his own father, and felt a stab of anxiety: 10:30. Clarke would be sure to be down soon, and there would be no more skirting the subject that desperately needed addressing.

Five minutes passed, ten. He drained his mug, skimmed another article, trying – in utter vain – to not think about the conversation ahead. But it was a lost cause; every other minute found him replaying the concerning phone call he’d had with Abby the night before. Every time he thought of those girls, and the injuries Abby had described, and every other hurt they’d no doubt ever suffered, a surge of fury swept through him. It wasn’t _right_. He knew he could be a bit of an idealist, but even so, even in their flawed society, this fell squarely, unequivocally, into the realm of outrageous wrongs. And it didn’t hurt, of course, that every time he thought of those girls he inevitably thought of _his_ girl, and grew even more incensed. There was nothing for it, he thought for the umpteenth time. From the moment he’d agreed with Abby, he’d been absolutely resolved: the girls – Anya and Lexa – would simply have to come here. Nothing else would suffice.

It was in the middle of this re-affirming that he heard the tell-tale sounds of one of the subjects of his thoughts preparing to make an appearance: the creak of a bedroom door, the slow steps down the stairs and through the hall, and then, finally, Clarke herself.

Jake felt the pang he always did at the sight of his daughter; at fifteen, she was definitely no longer a child, instead squarely a teenager and perhaps even edging towards what could be called a young woman. But as he looked at the somewhat bedraggled girl making her way into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with one hand and attempting to introduce some semblance of order into the bird’s nest that was her hair, all he saw was his baby girl.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Clarke mumbled something that could have, theoretically, been a reply in kind, and continued her beeline to their overly-complicated coffee maker (Jake, ever the engineer, had been so taken with its elegant and ergonomic design, full suite of functionality, and extensive drink choices he’d been unable to resist, never mind the admittedly ludicrous price tag it came with; Abby had just laughed and shaken her head when he’d proudly presented it).

It was only after she’d taken a seat at the counter and drunk her coffee in relative silence, assuming a cheerier disposition by the bottom of the mug then she had at the start, that Jake broached the matter at hand. “Sleep well?”

She smiled at him, a clear sign she was ready to talk. “Yeah, actually. You?”

“Yep.”

“That’s good. Is Mom still sleeping or something? I thought her shift ended at midnight, but I heard her come back a lot later.”

Well, he wasn’t going to get a better opening than that. “Yeah, she did come back pretty late. And she’s back at the hospital now, actually.”

Clarke paused from reaching over to grab the newspaper. “Wait, really? Why, did something happen?”

“I…well, yes, actually,” he replied, choosing how to proceed carefully. “Clarke, I need to talk to you about something. Your mother and I made a decision last night.”

He watched as a hint of fear entered her eyes, and felt his heart swell as she simply squared her shoulders, watching him raptly. His brave girl, strong beyond her years. “What is it?”

“Two girls came into the ER last night during your mom’s shift…” He told her what happened as honestly as he could, balancing the instinct to protect her from the world’s cruelties with his respect for her ability to handle the unvarnished truth; at the end of the day, she was going to see the girls and draw her own conclusions, anyway.

Clarke listened silently, her eyes widening as he reluctantly sketched out the severity of Lexa’s injuries, exhaling when he told her the details of the sisters’ past in the system.

“…and so Anya is going to be turning eighteen in less than a year, but in the meantime your mother felt that she couldn’t let them go back to the foster home they’ve been living in, or make them apply for a new home and risk getting separated. Which is why she decided – and I agree with her – to open our home to them.” He stopped there, waiting anxiously for her reaction.

She stared at him for a second, confused, before realization hit. “You mean- to live with us?”

He nodded. “At least until Anya turns eighteen, yes.”

She digested this in silence, looking slightly stunned. “I know this is a lot to take in,” Jake said, feeling a bit anxious himself, “But you know your mom and I wouldn’t have done this if we didn’t feel it was necessary. We had to help those girls, honey.”

He watched as she sat there for a moment, before abruptly straightening. “No, I get it, Dad. You and Mom were right. It was the right thing to do.”

Jake exhaled. “It’s okay if you want to think about this, Clarke. I know this is big news, and it’ll be an adjustment for all of us.”

She smiled, though it looked a bit strained to Jake. “It’s fine, Dad, really. There’s nothing to think about. This’ll be fine,” she said, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself as much as she was him. “We’ll be fine.”

He eyed her pensively. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re on board with all this. Because…” he hesitated. “They could very possibly be coming tonight.”

She stopped short. “As in, _tonight_ tonight?”

Jake winced. “Er, yes.”

“I…wow, that’s…sudden…” She stood abruptly. “Um, thanks for telling me, Dad. I’m, um, looking forward to meeting- what are their names?”

“Anya and Lexa.”

“Right, right,” she said, taking a step back towards the hall. “Can’t wait to meet them. Yeah.”

“Clarke, wait-”

But she’d already disappeared from the kitchen, her footsteps on the stairs signaling her hasty retreat. Jake sat back, sighing. He couldn’t blame her, really. He’d just dumped a _lot_ on her. He’d give her some space, let it digest it all…he’d just have to check in with her before the girls arrived, make sure their first meeting – already bound to be awkward – didn’t end in complete disaster.

 

**

“Good afternoon, girls. How are we feeling today?”

Lexa looked up as the doctor strode into her room. As she had the night previous, she exuded confidence and even power, clearly in her element in this room and the hospital at large. It made Lexa feel even more uneasy. Next to her, she felt Anya stiffen; she knew her sister felt more than a little vulnerable in front of the doctor after letting her guard down in front of last night.

“Hello, Dr. Griffin. I’m feeling better.”

Abby hummed distractedly as she looked over the medical chart. “Good, that’s good. How are the pain-” She stopped suddenly, looking up from the chart to look over at Lexa; the girl returned her stare blithely. “Lexa, I thought I asked you to call me Abby.”

“Of course. It must have, um, slipped my mind.”

Abby peered at her for a moment longer before returning to the chart. “Right. Well, everything looks good here. The nurse noted that you’ve been a bit reluctant to take any pain medication.”

Anya snorted before clearing her throat and looking away. If all the nurse had said on the chart was “a bit reluctant,” than that meant she’d dealt with patients who were even bigger pains in the ass than the two of them, if that was possible; Anya was a master at riling up the staff with her snide comments, while Lexa, if slightly less confrontational, was equally – if not more – bullheaded. Lexa just sighed. “My pain is perfectly manageable.”

“If you say so. There’s more if you want to take them.” Abby put the chart down then and studied them both in silence. Just as Lexa was beginning to get anxious, she finally spoke. “Well, the reason I wanted to drop in was to give you both a few updates.”

They both just looked at her. When it was apparent that no reply was forthcoming, she cleared her throat and went on: “Your social worker called me a little while ago, and confirmed that we’ve been approved to foster. If you two still want to live with us, you can. We’re…we’re more than willing, and would love to have you.”

Anya shifted, but said nothing. Lexa, though slightly tempted to make the doctor sweat a bit, abruptly remembered her thoughts from the morning. “Thank you, doctor. That’s very kind. But first-- our foster sibling, Aden. What will become of him? We can’t leave him there alone.”

Abby smiled slightly. “Don’t worry. I asked about it and the social worker assured me that he’s already been moved from the home. Actually…” she hesitated. “I’m not sure if you know this, girls, but it seems likely that he’ll be adopted very soon.”

Lexa felt her breath catch in her throat, momentarily blindsided. She hadn’t known, and for a moment was caught up in the dizzying tangle of emotions that came every time another foster sibling was adopted: the happiness for them – she had never been petty – mixed with the painful reminder that she and Anya were too old, too unwanted, too, apparently, unlovable for any family to want them on a permanent basis. She looked up to see Abby watching her anxiously. “Thank you for letting us know. I’m very glad to hear it. Aden’s a wonderful boy – any family will be lucky to have him.”

Abby nodded. “I’m sure.”

An awkward silence followed, the three of them all caught up in their own thoughts. Finally, though, the doctor spoke again. “Well, in any case…I see no reason why you can’t be released, Lexa. The swelling has gone down a lot around your eye, and the x-ray looks good, too. If you two want, you can come back with me to my – _our_ – home…” she hesitated again, “…tonight.”

Tonight. She and Anya exchanged glances. Anya’s eyes were filled with a characteristic mixture of fear and fierce determination; Lexa knew that after their conversation that morning her sister was, and would remain, resolved. And…the fact remained: even if it wasn’t permanent, the doctor had opened her home to them when no one else was willing, and Lexa would take what she could get. She turned back to the doctor. “Thank you, doctor. We’ll be happy to join you.”

After a stunned moment – had she expected them to turn her down? – Abby broke into a wide, surprisingly genuine looking grin. “Great. I’m delighted to hear it. In that case, I’ll be done in a few hours. We can stop at a Target or something on the way home to get everything you both will need for the next few days, until we can collect your belongings from the other home.”

Lexa didn’t have the heart to tell her that, apart from a few key items, most of it wasn’t worth the effort. “That would be great. Thank you, Dr. Griffin,” she said, inclining her head.

 “Thank _you_ ,” Abby replied, her gaze suddenly serious.

“For what?”

“For taking a chance on us,” Abby said simply. “For trusting me when you didn’t have to.”

Lexa just nodded, her throat feeling tight. Besides her, Anya watched the doctor with keen eyes.

The silence grew between the three of them yet again, and this time the doctor used it to make her exit, slipping out of the room with a few words of farewell.

She felt Anya take her hand, and returned the grip tightly. They were committed, now; there was no turning back.

 

**

The drive to the Griffin family home was mostly quiet. Abby had returned, as promised, a few hours later, and Lexa had been discharged without issue, the doctor having handled the insurance and payment earlier. The aforementioned trip to Target went off with only a bit of awkwardness, both Anya and Lexa hesitant to buy overmuch, but they had managed to leave the store with toiletries and enough basic clothing to get them through the next week or so; Abby promised a more comprehensive shopping trip later.

Lexa knew they were nearing the Griffins’ home when they entered the nice part of town, the wide, clean, streets, the huge houses bordered by lush, well-kept lawns, and abundance of expensive cars in driveways clearly signaling that they were entering a world she and Anya knew little of and had expected to ever enter even less. Even the car they were in now, the doctor’s sleek Audi, was easily the nicest vehicle they’d ever been in.  She leaned back against the plush leather seat, trying to get a handle on her unease. She wasn’t very successful.

Finally, they turned into a quiet neighborhood, the oak trees scattered around the lawns meeting to form a lovely canopy over the road. Abby slowed as they pulled up to a house on the corner, and Lexa stared, knowing without looking that Anya was equally agog.

The house before them, while not as immense as some of the places they’d passed, was by no means small, a well-sized and elegant building that spoke to the restraint and class of its inhabitants. Lexa had never felt more out of place.

“Well,” Abby said after a moment. “This is it.”

Neither of them replied. Lexa wouldn’t have known what to say, anyway. They pulled into the driveway behind a black BMW; it was only after Abby had pulled the keys from the ignition and opened her door that the girls jerked to life, grabbing the shopping bags around them and joining her on the lawn. They let her start towards the front entrance, Anya waiting until she was a few steps away before leaning towards Lexa and muttering, “Sure you don’t want to get our asses back to Kansas, Toto?”

Lexa snorted and hoisted her bags, starting off after the doctor. There _was_ no going back. Anya quickly caught up, and they joined Abby at the entrance, the doctor smiling distractedly at them as she fumbled with her keys. She finally came up with the house key, and the door was opened to reveal a glimpse of a well-appointed, tasteful foyer.  Lexa’s view of the place was partially blocked by a tall, casually dressed man with blond hair, who had evidently known when they were arriving. This would be the husband, then. Jake. He smiled at them, saying jovially, “Welcome home, girls!”

Before she had time to respond, the door opened wider, revealing a previously hidden figure, and Lexa felt the beginnings of any reply die in her throat. A girl with blonde hair like her father and the bluest eyes Lexa had ever seen stood before her, and it was as if the air had disappeared from the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Lexa. She never had a chance.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They interact...finally.

It had been a weird day.

First, she’d stayed up way too late chatting with Wells and Raven about the upcoming school year the night before, and no sooner had she dragged herself out of bed had her dad dropped a bomb on her semi-conscious self; she’d barely digested the news that two strangers would be essentially moving in for practically a year – at _least_ , to quote her father, don’t think she didn’t catch that – before he was knocking on her door to let her know they would be arriving within the hour.

It wasn’t that Clarke was selfish, or ungracious, or uncaring or anything else of the sort. She liked to think she was pretty damn socially conscious, in fact. Her parents had made sure of that, going to lengths to ensure that she was aware of all that she had been blessed with in life, and how many people lacked access to the opportunities she’d never been without.

But it was one thing to know this in the abstract sense, and quite another to be faced with it up close and personal – in the form of two other teenage girls, no less. And that was another thing. She’d been an only child for fifteen years, for god’s sake. She’d grown kinda used to having the second floor essentially to herself, and now would be sharing it, the bathroom at the end of the hall, and everything else of interest with them.

Clarke wasn’t being spoiled or petty, she _wasn’t_. When her dad was telling her about the girls – what were their names again? oh, right, Anya and Lexa – and all that they’d been through she’d truly been appalled and outraged on their behalf. And she really was on board with the idea that they needed somewhere to live, somewhere safe and stress-free. She was happy they could be that place.

But, still. This… _arrangement_ was, to be precise, life-changing, and going to take some getting used to. And it would have been nice to have more than, oh, seven hours to come to terms with the new circumstances of their home.

What were the girls even like? Would they dislike her, or assume things about her? …Would she dislike _them_? Her dad didn’t have much in the way of detail to offer, probably because he didn’t know the first thing about them beyond their names, either.

But, she reflected as she waited at the front door with him – they would be here any minute, apparently – he _had_ given her a few gentle heads-ups: they had grown up in foster care, never staying at a home for more than a few years, and in all likelihood had encountered foster parents who were more interested in the monthly checks than they were the children. Anya and Lexa would very possibly be wary, or stand-offish, and slow to trust.

They probably, he told her, had faced abuse at one time or another. He didn’t elaborate, and Clarke didn’t ask. She knew they were coming from the hospital, after all, and that Lexa was the one who’d been injured. That was more than enough to digest for the time being.

Her musings were cut short by the distinctive sound of a car door being shut outside. Clarke felt herself tense at the noise, and forced herself to relax. A quick glance confirmed that her dad appeared completely calm, hands in his pockets as if he welcomed foster children into his home every week, and she envied his dependable grace under pressure.

“Ready, honey?” he asked, perhaps sensing her growing nerves. She managed a nod.

He shot her a glance, but didn’t have time to inquire further, the sound of a key being inserted into the lock drawing their eyes back to the door.

The first thing Clarke registered when the door opened was her mother, clutching a Target shopping bag in one hand and her keys in the other, looking weary in her scrubs.  She didn’t have time to consider her further, her gaze quickly being drawn to the girls standing awkwardly behind Abby. The first was tall and… _intense_ was the word that came to mind, with narrowed eyes and high cheekbones. She looked deeply untrusting of all that was before her, her white-knuckled grip on her shopping bags betraying her unease. The girl returned her gaze for a moment, her eyes unreadable, before turning to look at her dad. Well, _that_ wasn’t promising.

Her dad welcomed the girls, and despite knowing she should echo the greetings found herself tongue-tied, suddenly overcome with the awkwardness of the situation, only heightened by the first girl’s forbidding silence.

Her mom opened the door wider, then, and she was able to peer around the girl to get a look at her sister…only to see that the other girl was already staring back at _her_. Clarke felt herself suck in a breath at the sight of the girl’s black eye, but managed – she hoped –  to conceal most of her reaction, not wanting to offend or embarrass—Lexa, right? Her dad had said that the younger sister, Lexa, was the one injured, as this girl clearly was, which would make the other, scarier one Anya.

Unlike Anya, Lexa seemed somewhat receptive, if no less guarded than her sister, assuming her eyes widening when Clarke met her gaze was anything to go by. Clarke smiled hopefully at her, wanting to make some headway _somewhere_ , only to be taken aback when the other girl immediately looked away, her face turning slightly pink.

Clarke looked helplessly from her to Anya, completely nonplussed and unsure of how to proceed. So far, the first minute of their acquaintance had been intensely awkward. It was a small relief to see that Anya was watching her sister suspiciously, looking equally confused.

Jake swooped in then, eager perhaps to save Clarke from herself. She made a note to be extra nice to him for the next couple of days. “Lexa, Anya, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m Jake Griffin, Abby’s husband.”

The girls turned to him, exchanging stilted pleasantries, and Clarke let herself fade into the background with relief. She needed to get a grip, dammit; she was _never_ usually this awkward.

Her reprieve was short-lived; she’d no sooner stepped back to stand with her mom before he was turning back to her. “And this is our daughter, Clarke.”

She repressed a cringe as their laser focuses turned back to her – and seriously, what was with their weirdly intense stares? By now, the older one, Anya, seemed to have to pick up on her discomfort, and was smirking slightly; Lexa, on the other hand, seemed to have regained her composure and watched her calmly.

Clarke felt a surge of irritation at their silence, then, and stiffly held out a hand. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

At first, neither moved to take her hand, and her irritation spiked even higher. Seriously? But then, Lexa unexpectedly stepped forward and returned the gesture, meeting Clarke’s outstretched hand with her own. “Hello, Clarke. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Clarke nodded mechanically, trying to ignore the – _whatever_ it was – she’d felt when Lexa’s hand had connected with hers.

They stared at each for a moment. Through the bruising, Clarke realized, Lexa’s eyes were very green.

At the sound of a throat clearing from besides them, Lexa abruptly dropped Clarke’s hand, stepping back and dropping her gaze. Clarke looked over to see Anya staring at both of them, looking decidedly less amused than she had the minute previous. She raised a hand in laconic greeting upon meeting Clarke’s gaze, saying simply, “Hey. I’m Anya.” Her tone was curt.

An awkward silence followed this introduction, and there was no telling how long it might have dragged on – Clarke certainly wasn’t prepared to end it – had Jake not clapped his hands together, effectively ending the increasingly strained moment. His smile was bright and sunny, determinedly impervious to the increasing tension between the girls. “Great! Now that we’ve all met, Clarke, honey, why don’t you show Lexa and Anya to their room so they can put their bags down? Your mom and I will get dinner started down here.”

Clarke stifled a sigh – her dad could be very determined, a quality that was both endearing and exhausting. “Sure, dad.”

 

**

“…So, here’s the game room. My room is right here, and the bathroom is at the end of the hall. Your room has an en suite, too, though. And…here it is.”

Clarke opened the door and ushered them in, watching as they took in the room’s wide windows, the queen-sized bed and wardrobe. “Dad said something about getting you guys proper furniture soon, you know, some desks and stuff.” She gestured to the bed. “I know it’s a queen, but it’s just for a few nights.”

At this, Lexa spoke up, much to Clarke’s surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, well, you’ll probably want your own beds, right?” Clarke replied hesitantly. “So…we’ll probably do that.”

Lexa didn’t speak for a moment, before finally saying, simply, “Yes, of course.”

“Um…right.” Clarke took a step towards the door, fully ready for this interaction to be over. “Well, you two will probably want to freshen up a bit before dinner, so I’ll just…leave you to it.”

She flashed them a weak smile and was gone. Lexa waited until the door was closed before dropping her bags to the floor and sitting down with a sigh on the edge of the bed. She watched as Anya dropped her bags, too, before making her way to the door in the corner of the room, opening it to reveal a bathroom. Withdrawing, she turned to Lexa and said wryly, “So that’s what an _en suite_ is,” giving the words a dramatic flourish. 

Lexa felt her lips twitching, and then, unexpectedly, laughter bubbling up her throat. She couldn’t hold it back, the sheer absurdity and stress of the day overcoming her: the surreal trip to the ER, the doctor, the Target shopping trip, the fact that even now, the room they were sitting in was the biggest bedroom either of them had been given, with an attached bathroom, no less…dimly, she heard Anya join her, and the bed dipped as she collapsed onto it mid-laugh, Lexa letting herself fall back as well.

They stayed that way for a few seconds, until finally, the hilarity of the moment passed. Lexa stared up at the ceiling, abruptly tired. When had she – they – last laughed like that? When had they last had a _reason_ to? She couldn’t remember.

“So, _that_ went well.”

Lexa snorted. “It could’ve gone worse. You certainly went out of your way to be charming.”

“Eh, they’ll get over it,” Anya replied easily, unrepentant. “And anyway, I had to do _something_ to take their attention away from your weird-ass zoning out.”

“What do you mean?!” Lexa said, indignant. “I wasn’t zoning out!”

“So you were just staring at their daughter – _Clarke_ – because you were blown away by her blue eyes and girl-next-door looks?”

Lexa felt herself redden. “I don’t- what- no, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous, Anya.”

It was Anya’s turn to snort. “Uh huh.” A smile colored her next words. “I mean, she isn’t bad to look at, to be fair.”

“Anya!”

Anya laughed. “God, you’re too easy, Lex.” After a pause, though, she sobered. “Probably not a good idea, though. No telling what this family is like, and they’ve taken us in…”

Lexa felt any lingering amusement drain from her completely. “I know.”

Anya exhaled. “Good.”

They laid that way in a silence markedly different from the one before, each lost in her respective thoughts. Anya was right, Lexa knew that. They knew nothing about the Griffins, aside from their apparently charitable streak, and had no idea about their beliefs or convictions or collective temperament. Best not to rock the boat. And, besides that…best, too, to not let herself get attached, or even risk the possibility. They would be leaving in a matter of months, their stay at the Griffins’ a hopefully pleasant blip on the radar, and that would be that.

“Welcome to the ‘burbs, Woods.”

Lexa felt her lips curl up despite herself. “Right back atcha.”

 

**

Dinner that night was a strained affair.

Anya and Lexa came downstairs a little while after Clarke had left them, both having showered (“Thank god for the en suite,” Anya had said drolly) and changed into some of their newly acquired clothing – both only too happy to leave their worn jeans and even rattier hoodies behind – to find the kitchen alive with activity. Abby and Jake worked together at the island, their easy synchronism demonstrating the, no doubt, many years they’d spent working together. Clarke, meanwhile, continued to set the table after a quick glance their way.

“Girls!” Jake said cheerfully upon their arrival. “Just in time. Please, take a seat.”

“We’re happy to help, Mr. Griffin,” Lexa began, but was just as quickly rebuffed.

“Not tonight, Lexa, not tonight! You two are guests, we have to welcome you right!” He smiled. “And please, call me Jake.”

Not another one, Lexa thought mournfully. Still, they made no attempt to argue – Jake’s stubborn expression made it clear they would make little headway – and sat at the kitchen table. Clarke, having laid the last plate down, hesitantly took a seat across from them, and Lexa found herself unable to stop herself from studying the girl. Even as she studiously avoided their eyes, her stiff shoulders belying her tension as she stared at her phone – though, Lexa noted, didn’t appear to actually be doing anything on it – she really wasn’t, as Anya had said, bad to look at.

Not that she cared, or anything.

A kick to her ankle made her look up from where, she realized belatedly, she had been staring at Clarke – and worse, the girl appeared to have been aware of her study, if her steadily flushing cheeks were anything to go by. Lexa stole a glance at Anya, just in time to see her sister rolling her eyes.

The increasingly awkward dynamics at the table were mercifully broken up by the arrival of the elder Griffins, both carrying dishes. In a few moments, the table was covered in platters of pasta, garlic bread, and salad, everything looking and smelling quite tempting. Once everyone was seated, the food was quickly plated out, and they were urged to dig in. They – having had rather pathetic lunches at the hospital, and not much since – did just that.

After a few minutes of silence, everyone studiously involved in pasta consumption, Abby looked to Anya and Lexa. “So, girls, I hope everything was alright with the room? You have everything you need?”

Lexa nodded as she swallowed a bite of garlic bread. “Everything was great, Dr. Griffin. Thank you.”

The doctor smiled a bit wryly. “I’ll get you to call me Abby someday, I suppose. And I’m glad to hear it. I’m sorry to put you both in the same room, but it’s only until we can clear out the other bedroom on that floor – it’s being used for storage right now, I’m afraid.”

Lexa exchanged a quick glance with Anya before saying, “Actually, we don’t mind staying in the same room, doctor. We don’t want to be too much trouble.”

Abby opened her mouth to reply, no doubt to say it would be no trouble, but then thought better of it, perhaps picking up on an undercurrent in Lexa’s words. She settled for simply nodding in acceptance.

“Are you two looking forward to the school year, then?” Jake asked after a moment.

“Uh, yeah…although, I don’t know if we’ll still be able to go to our old school?”

Jake looked surprised. “Oh, well, I think we were thinking that maybe you both would like to transfer to Arkadia High, where Clarke goes.” He hesitated at the looks on their faces. “That is, unless you were wanting to stay at your current school? We could try to make something work.”

Anya snorted, and then, when everyone’s attention shifted to her, colored a bit. “Uh, I don’t think we’re that attached to our current school. We wouldn’t mind transferring, if it would be easier.”

“Arkadia is a great school, Anya,” Abby said encouragingly. “Clarke loves it. Don’t you, Clarke?”

Clarke looked up from where she’d been studying her pasta. “Uh, yeah. It’s been good so far.” Looking across the table, she seemed to summon up her willpower then, and elaborated: “It’s a good school. Everyone’s really nice, and the teachers are great.” Seeming to warm up to her subject a little, she added, “There’s a bunch of extracurriculars, and the sports teams can be…intense. Were you guys involved in anything at your old school?”

After a pause, Lexa said, “No, not especially.” She didn’t especially feel like breaking it to the well-meaning girl across from her that the broken-down, severely underfunded school they’d been zoned to had barely had the money to keep the lights on, let alone maintain extracurriculars.

“…Oh,” Clarke said, frowning a little. “Well, if you want to get involved, there’s tons of options. Uh…what about APs? I’m taking a ton, trying to get as much college credit as I can.” She ended the sentence with a conspiratorial smile, as if they were in on the same joke.

This time, Lexa just stared at her, not even knowing where to begin. Advanced Placement classes? College credit? How to explain to a girl who’d clearly never known anything else that, even if their old school _did_ offer those courses – something she rather heavily doubted – she and Anya had no concept or plan for either of those things, occupied entirely with surviving their foster home, looking out for their foster siblings, and counting down the days until Anya turned eighteen?

She still hadn’t landed on the words that would gently convey any of this to Clarke when Anya spoke up. “Uh, yeah. I don’t think our school really had the cash for those kind of classes, _Clarke_ ,” managing to pack a world of scorn into the sentence. “Too busy trying to get the last of the asbestos out of the walls and pay for all those low-income lunches.”

Clarke flushed. “Oh- I didn’t, um, that is-“

Jake rescued her, looking similarly embarrassed. “That’s a good point, Anya. Unfortunately, not all schools have the same resources to maintain college courses, Clarke. They’re definitely a bit of a luxury.”

Clarke sat back in her chair, mortified. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright, Clarke. There was no reason for you to have,” Lexa said, feeling more than a little sorry for her. (She determinedly pretended not to notice the feeling of Anya’s eyes boring into her from besides her.)

“Well, in any case,” Jake said, plowing forward. “Arkadia has any and all advanced classes you’d like to take.”

Anya just shrugged noncommittally. School had never been high on her list of priorities.

Both Jake and Abby made a few more abortive attempts at sparking conversation, but it was no good. Clarke’s inadvertent faux pas, and Anya’s swift, merciless return, had caused a pall of awkwardness to settle over the group, and it stubbornly lingered until the end of the meal.

 

**

Clarke stormed into her room, flushed with rage and burning with embarrassment. After managing to so effectively put her foot in her mouth, she’d settled into a sullen silence for the rest of the meal, dumping her plate in the sink and all but fleeing at the first possible moment, unable to bring herself to even glance in Lexa and Anya’s direction as she left.

Throwing herself onto her bed, she pressed her hands to her face, letting out a disgruntled and probably highly unattractive groan. God, that had been _humiliating_. Everything she’d been trying to avoid – making them feel lesser, or bringing attention to the obvious disparities in their backgrounds – had instead managed to unfold in short order. And she’d just been trying to make conversation, dammit!

And that girl…Anya…okay, yeah, Clarke may have managed to reveal just how naïve she could be about some things, but the other girl didn’t need to be such a _bitch_ about it. God. Another wave of irritation swept over her as she replayed the smirk playing on the girl’s lips as she’d delivered her line. “Ugh!”

Pulling her hands away from her face, she grabbed her phone, despondently typing out a text.

 **Clarke [8:30 PM]:** just kill me and get it over with

She was about to elaborate, but paused, her thumbs hovering over the screen, as another thought occurred to her. Lexa, at least, had been a bit nicer, when she – as Anya proved – clearly didn’t have to be. She thought back to the girl, trying to make her feel a bit better after her sister had torn Clarke a new one. It hadn’t worked, but the effort was appreciated in retrospect.

Her phone lit up with a reply.

 **Wells [8:32 PM]:** oh man, did it go that bad? be nice to your new roomies Clarke

She rolled her eyes. Wells _would_ think she had been the aggressor.

 **Clarke [8:32 PM]:** i was perfectly nice, thank you very much. jeez, slap a guy in the face once and suddenly you’re violent and unpredictable…

 **Wells [8:33 PM]:** finn couldn’t look anyone in the eyes for days. it was a little sad. and great. but ANYWAY, what happened?!

Clarke sighed. Where to even begin… Her efforts to formulate a reply were halted as the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, and then the hallway, drew her attention. Guess her new floormates were returning to their room. She sunk further into her bed, as if the motion would shield her from detection. She didn’t think she could handle any more embarrassment for one night.

The first set of footsteps, brash and loud, swept straight past her room, heading for the guest bedroom. The second, lighter set, however, paused. Clarke stared at her closed door, wishing she could see through it. Was Lexa on the other side, she wondered? What was causing her hesitation? After a moment, the footsteps picked up again, following their partner into the guest room. The sound of the door closing signaled the end of whatever had just happened.

Clarke looked at her door long after the footsteps had faded, her phone laying forgotten on her lap (and flashing with numerous, increasingly frantic, texts from Wells).

Tonight had been an unmitigated disaster. Both girls probably thought she was a self-concerned, utterly clueless airhead, the very stereotype she loathed and actively strived to distance herself from. But as she thought back to Anya’s smirk, and Lexa’s stoic gaze, she was suddenly filled with irritated determination, eager to prove them wrong. …However she was going to achieve that.

A smile curled her lips. Well, she’d been starting to get bored. Looked like she’d found her mission for the rest of summer break.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ball of rage Clarke Griffin is taking no prisoners and is definitely not in over her head
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, would love to hear your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

The first week of Anya and Lexa’s stay at the Griffins’ saw the girls slowly learning the dynamics and workings of their new home, from the mundane – where to put dirty laundry, what the Griffins’ typical schedules were, what to have for breakfast and what the best setting on the toaster was – to the subtler and endlessly more complex: how Abby and Jake treated each other, what their relationships were to Clarke, what they counted among their values and how they operated as a family.

To the sisters, learning as much as they could about both aspects, as quickly as they could, was a practice that required no discussion or even conscious thought; having been moved into a variety of homes and families throughout their lives, they knew fully well the importance of casing the joint and getting a handle on all there was to know about their new surroundings. It was simply a matter of survival, after all.   

And what they’d found…they didn’t know what to make of it, and thus, trusted it even less. Hard earned experience had taught them to be wary of the men in their foster homes, lest they turned out to be violent, or drunk, or far too interested in their young female charges. And so no matter how pleasant Jake Griffin had appeared that first night, they knew all too well that talk was cheap, and appearances deceiving; his actions would speak for him louder than any token question about the upcoming school year.

The target of their suspicion, conscious of their caution or not, conducted himself with total serenity, taking their guarded answers into stride whenever he struck up conversation, and never seeming to ask for or expect anything they weren’t prepared to give. He’d yet to attempt even knocking on their bedroom door, usually sending Clarke to call them down for meals, and in general seemed perfectly content to let things develop in their own natural time.

Naturally, both Anya and Lexa saw this for the ruse it clearly was, and watched him all the more keenly, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always had in the past, and nothing so out of the ordinary had yet occurred to suggest otherwise.  

And so they set out to observe, and this is what they took in: Jake’s booming laughter, often heard throughout the house; his easy affection with both his wife and daughter (it wasn’t uncommon for him to be seen dipping Abby into a dramatic embrace, her sputtering out laughter all the while, or slinging his arm around Clarke and pressing a kiss to her head); his permanent cheeriness and sense of humor (expressed freely and frequently through horrible dad jokes, much to Clarke’s dismay); and preternatural ability to defuse any sparks of tension that flew up between Abby and Clarke when the latter was having, as he called them wryly, a “teenage moment.” (Usually resulting in Clarke firing back with a, “Better than a senior moment, old man,” a dig that caused him to dramatically clutch his chest and defend his still “young and hale” self while Clarke rolled her eyes.)

In short, Jake was the glue of the Griffin family, and it seemed that it was as clear to the Griffins as it was to Anya and Lexa; the former group had known this for years, of course, and didn’t seem to think much of it. The latter two, on the other hand, didn’t know what to think, and were hardly about to revise their opinion of a man based on one week’s worth of observations. But…maybe circumstances at the Griffin family home were different here, different from anywhere else they’d lived.   

And maybe not. They hadn’t survived for as long as they had by being trusting or credulous; both were far too jaded for that. But still.

Things were different.

 

**

Clarke heaved a sigh, laying morosely on her bed. Plans were much less fun when they didn’t go as imagined.   

The sisters’ first week at the house had seen her fiery determination to make them see her in a new light and win their approval, formed after the humiliation at dinner their first night, run straight into their impenetrable silence and come to a dead halt there. Perhaps silence was the wrong word; it wasn’t that they completely ignored her, but they weren’t exactly going out of their way to chat her up, either.

Of the two, Anya was clearly the more hostile, making no bones about her disdain for Clarke (a completely undeserved disdain, Clarke thought indignantly) and deflecting her cheery attempts at conversation in the kitchen, the den, or at mealtimes, never hesitant to shut her down with a snide remark, or occasionally just ignoring her.

She didn’t go out of her way to antagonize Clarke (or at least, not much), but had no problem with firing back whenever Clarke attempted to break the thick wall of ice that had formed between them; if this was her way of telling Clarke that she absolutely no interest in revising her opinion of her, let alone forming any sort of friendship with her, it was certainly effective.  

And Lexa…well. Lexa was different. She, unlike Anya, didn’t seem to hold Clarke in contempt, or even dislike her, for that matter – she’d even come to Clarke’s defense a few times when Anya’s comments were especially cutting – but was almost equally aloof. Clarke could count on one hand the number of times she’d been able to engage the girl in anything approaching a conversation, and every time, she’d been perfectly polite, if a bit reticent, and looking all the while as if seeking a way to escape (which, Clarke thought irritably, was a bit overdramatic; she knew she could be intense when she was trying to achieve something, but she was hardly _scary_ ). It had gotten to the point that Clarke could expect Lexa to find a way to disappear within ten minutes of Clarke entering the room, which, really, was just ridiculous.

Maybe it had something to do with the little incident earlier in the week, when Clarke had exited the hallway bathroom freshly showered, a towel wrapped around herself for the short walk back to her room – only to walk directly into Lexa. The other girl had, after a frozen second, jumped back as if burned, stammering out apologies as she steadily flushed, eyes looking anywhere but Clarke. Clarke, though a little embarrassed, had mostly found the whole thing funny – it wasn’t _that_ big of a deal – and would’ve laughed it off had Lexa not seriously looked like she was about to pass out. As it was, she’d barely managed to assuage the other girl’s increasingly stressed-sounding apologies, and would’ve offered the bathroom – hey, it was empty now, and since she’d clearly been waiting for it, may as well – had Lexa not all but fled, leaving a bemused Clarke alone in the hallway.   

But that was hardly grounds for…whatever Lexa’s deal was. Clarke couldn’t figure it out. She’d noticed that Anya’s presence made Lexa even less likely to be receptive to conversation, but it definitely wasn’t the sole factor. Lexa herself, in the brief times they had conversed, looked incredibly torn, as if she _herself_ wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay or go.

Well, Clarke thought sourly, she needed to figure it out. Clarke didn’t know what was going on with the other girl, but at this point would almost take Anya’s straightforward hostility over Lexa’s bewildering behavior; the mixed signals she was putting out, as she apparently vacillated between keeping her distance or striking up a friendship, were getting _exhausting_.

 

**

This, Lexa thought, surely must be punishment for something.  Life, having apparently tired of jerking her and her sister around from shitty family to shittier family, had decided it would be amusing to see how she fared in a seemingly healthily functioning home, and then, to make sure things were really interesting, had thrown in a teenage daughter who was simultaneously the most captivating and infuriating girl Lexa had ever encountered.

Captivating in the way she doggedly kept up attempts to make headway with her and Anya, despite the latter’s all too gleeful efforts to keep that headway at a minimum, with various comebacks and comments that even had Lexa wincing from time to time. Captivating in the way sparks of irritation would flash in her eyes every time Anya delivered a line, hinting at some hidden fire, and then be stubbornly stamped out and replaced with a sweet (and only slightly forced) smile and yet another attempt. Captivating in the way she’d smile and laugh encouragingly whenever Lexa, despite her best efforts, found herself in a conversation with her, unable to tear herself away lest she inadvertently say something that would make the other girl do it again-- 

Dammit. And infuriating for the very same reason. Because she was making it very, very difficult for Lexa to keep up the whole “be aloof and keep her distance” thing. In fact, it was making her want to do the exact opposite. She was already failing on the “distance” part of it, anyway, if their literal run-in outside the bathroom after Clarke’s shower was any indication. Just the thought of the momentary feel of the other girl against her, in a _towel_ , for god’s sake, Lexa frozen with shock, able to feel _way_ too much—

Oh, god. She pressed her hands to her face, knowing that it must be bright red, and let herself collapse on her bed, unaware that Clarke was striking a similar pose just a door down. This was a _disaster_. There was no other course of action: she’d have to leave in the dead of the night, leave and never come back, lest she disrespect the Griffins’ kindness, or risk them getting kicked out, or worst of all, upset Clarke--

“Oh my god, can you please snap out of it?”

Lexa pulled her hands from her face to see Anya standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her with an expression both pitying and deeply disdainful.  

“What do you want, Anya,” she muttered, aware that she probably made a pathetic sight but in no mood to own up to it.

“I _want_ you to stop acting like such a freak, Jesus Christ.”

Lexa just sighed, years of exposure leaving her unruffled by Anya’s more jagged edges. “You can just call me Lexa, Anya.”

Anya’s eye twitched, and Lexa allowed herself a small smirk. Sometimes it was too easy. “And anyway, what am I doing that is so bizarre, exactly?” She’d always been a big proponent of faking it ‘til you made it.

Anya crossed her arms, looking unamused. “I think a better question would be, what are you doing that _isn’t_ bizarre.”

“Get to the point.”

“I’m aware that you and I have different methods of dealing with foster families, which, fine, whatever, but I have some doubts about the effectivity of your current strategy of alternating between staring intensely at the foster sister and literally running away whenever she walks into a room.”

Lexa felt herself turn red all over again. So much for faking it. “I do not _run_.”

“A very fast power walk, then.” Anya shrugged indifferently. “Either way, it’s weird as hell.”

Lexa deflated. “I’m doing my best here,” she said miserably. “But she’s so…and I’m just…”

She petered off, uncomfortably aware of the growing horror on Anya’s face. “Oh, god,” her sister breathed. “You’re even more far gone than I thought. _Shit_.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can I remind you that you’ve known the girl wonder for roughly one week?”

“I know that! I know,” Lexa replied quickly. “And I’m not gonna do anything stupid. No attachments.”

“…No attachments. Right,” Anya said, her entire body fairly screaming her skepticism. “Look, I don’t need to remind you about Costia…”

“No. You don’t,” Lexa said, her voice draining of all amusement.

“Hey, just checking,” her sister said, raising her hands in surrender.

The silence grew between them for a moment before Lexa abruptly sighed. “I haven’t been _that_ bad, have I?”

Anya watched her for a second before letting some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “Nah, not really. Well, I mean, you’re just fine around the parents. You do that whole polite-but-at-a-distance thing very well. But you have _got_ to loosen up around the girl. She’s starting to eye you a bit strangely, and frankly, I can’t blame her.”

“Her name is Clarke.”

Anya sighed. “Clarke, then. You’re not really helping your case here.”

It was Lexa’s turn to glare. “You know, you’re one to talk. You’re not exactly helping our case either.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You may not be running whenever she appears – instead, you’re having the time of your life making her hate you. She’s just trying to be friendly, An.”

Anya scowled. “It’s annoying as hell. Not my fault if she can’t take a hint or ten.”

Lexa groaned. “Anya, we’re living here now. Can’t we just find a happy medium?”

Anya raised an eyebrow. “I take it the other end of that spectrum is you hopelessly pining?”

“I do not _pine_.”                   

“Just like you don’t run.”

They stared daggers at each other for a moment before Anya deflated, letting out a rueful laugh. “Fine, have it your way, sis. I’ll ease up on the girl – excuse me, _Clarke_ – if you stop being such a damn sap. It’s getting a little pathetic.”

Lexa let out an unwilling chuckle of her own. “You’re the worst. Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

The tension in the room burst as they both broke into laughter; neither of them could stay angry at the other for long. They sat with their thoughts for a moment, until Lexa said, her voice hesitant for a different reason altogether: “It hasn’t been all bad, has it?”

Anya’s shoulders tensed, but after a moment she let out a terse, “No. It hasn’t.”

And it really hadn’t. A week was perhaps too short to draw any real conclusions, but all they’d seen and taken in so far really seemed to suggest that the Griffins were, against all odds, a normal, loving family (a voice in her head scoffed at the mere thought). Regardless of the girls’ differing opinions on Clarke, both would agree that both she and her parents seemed like kind people, at the end of the day, with a close bond clearly existing between the three of them.

…Her parents. Lexa had been far warier of the adult Griffins then she ever had been of their daughter, for the simple reason that they, to be frank, held a measure of power over her that she chafed under – a power that any foster parent held, one that she loathed for the way it made her dependent on them. She’d seen enough of Abby and Jake to know that neither thought of their relationship to her and Anya that way, would, in fact, be horrified by the idea, but it had less to do with them and everything to do with the hard lessons she’d learned in the system.

She thought back a bit guiltily to the shopping trip to IKEA Abby had sprung on them the day before, declaring that it was far past time they start redecorating their room. She had delighted in steering them through the maze-like floors of the cavernous store, both girls immediately overwhelmed by the dizzying array of household amenities on offer, until finally they found their way to the bedroom area, and, at her insistence, hesitantly picked out twin beds to replace the queen in their room. Abby had been more than happy to let them pick whatever they liked, not forcing them either way, and after they made their selections helped them pick out desks and chairs as well, chattering enthusiastically all the while about the aesthetic she saw for their room and how excited she was for them to personalize the space.

They’d agreed weakly, a bit overcome by her eagerness, and after they’d successfully survived the confusing walk to the furniture pick-up and checkout, left the store, both a little relieved that the ordeal was over. (When Lexa had hesitantly voiced her doubt about the large boxes fitting in Abby’s Audi, the doctor had just chuckled, assuring her that the fee the store charged for delivery and assembly was worth every penny.)  

When the delivery arrived a few hours later, the workers had assembled the furniture in short order, even carrying the queen mattress and bedframe out of the room – and leaving Lexa and Anya with a brand new room of furniture, a set of circumstances that neither quite knew what to do with, having never encountered it before. Lexa shifted a bit uncomfortably on her new bed, remembering Jake’s outrage when he’d learned that Abby had opted for paid assembly (“I’m literally a mechanical engineer, Abs! I live for this stuff!” Abby had just rolled her eyes before turning and winking conspiratorially at Lexa, a gesture of friendly familiarity that made a tangle of complicated feelings roil through her chest.) 

Abby had been so matter-of-fact, acting with a kind of brisk kindness that Lexa, despite herself, found comforting – and without giving any indication she expected anything in return. Lexa saw it, but wouldn’t – couldn’t – bring herself to trust it. The same was true for Jake. Neither sister was inclined to interact much with the man, but he appeared entirely unperturbed by their caution. Lexa had seen the love and care with which he behaved with Abby and Clarke, but would never be so ridiculous as to assume that any of that warmth would ever be extended towards her.

That was fine, though. She didn’t want it, anyway.

 

**

She awoke that night with a start, laying there and wondering what had awoken her when she realized her throat was painfully dry. She hadn’t drunk enough water before going to bed, she supposed. Lexa debated her options – suck it up and force herself back into unconsciousness, or go downstairs for a glass of water. She mentally recoiled from the second option – who knew who would be down there, still awake and requiring conversation. But the dryness of her throat and uncomfortable fuzziness on her tongue rapidly made it clear that the first option wasn’t going to work, either.

She sighed. Time to bite the bullet, Woods. She sat up and reluctantly made her way out of bed and then the room, Anya not stirring as she did.  Creeping down the stairs, she tried to make as little noise as possible and had successfully just made it to the den, which opened onto the kitchen, when she froze in the doorway.

Sitting on the couch, his back to her, was Jake, watching a soccer game with the volume turned almost all the way down, the flickering images illuminating the darkened room. She stood there, torn between scampering back up the stairs, water be damned, or clinging to her pride and forcing herself to continue on into the kitchen. Still debating between the options – neither seemed overly attractive – she found herself continually glancing at the TV, until she was no longer glancing so much as watching wholeheartedly.

She hadn’t lied to Clarke when she’d told her that her and Anya’s old school hadn’t much funding for extracurricular activities, but it _had_ been able to support some standard sports teams, at least. Her true meaning had been that her own participation had never seemed overly possible – transportation from practice, to games, finding the money for cleats and shin guards and all the rest…it just seemed like an unnecessary headache to add to an already lost list of worries.

But that didn’t mean that she hadn’t wanted to. The soccer teams at her school had been fairly competitive; with the practice field located near the school bus stop, she’d found herself watching the practices with interest more than once, the drills, the laps, the scrimmages and everything else drawing her in.  

It was that same pull that now kept her attention on the game playing out in front of her, watching raptly as the players sprinted up and down the field, occasionally attempting brutal slide tackles as they fought for control of the ball. She’d heard Jake mention soccer a few times in passing, but hadn’t realized his fondness for the game apparently extended to staying up late to catch live matches. She squinted at the score, but didn’t recognize the teams; they were probably European FCs.

She stood there for who knew how long, watching the game, unsure but not entirely caring if Jake was aware of her presence or not. She could be very quiet when she wanted. Finally, the game went to a commercial break, and she blinked, the spell broken. Jake hadn’t turned, and she decided to take her chances on getting that water after all. But she’d barely taken more than a step towards the kitchen was the wood beneath her feet letting out an unseemly creak, completely blowing her cover.

Lexa froze, trying to see how feasible a complete retreat to the stairs was. But it was too late; Jake was already turning, breaking out into a smile upon seeing her. “Lexa! I didn’t know you were still up. Don’t tell me you’re a Liverpool fan, too.”

She returned the smile uncomfortably. “Hello, Mr. Griffin. Sorry to disturb you. I was just on my way to grab some water…”

“Of course, of course. But you _did_ seem rather interested in the game.”

So he _had_ known she was there. Dammit. Note to self: work on the whole ‘stealth’ thing. “I, er, it just caught my interest, I guess…” She took a step back towards the stairs. Screw the damn water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you—”

He turned fully, holding up a placating hand. “Hey, wait. You aren’t bothering me at all. You’re welcome to watch the rest of the game, if you like. It’s a good one.”

She was shaking her head even before he stopped speaking. “Oh, no, that’s okay, it’s really no problem, I’m fine—“

“Lexa.”

She stopped just short of babbling. “Yes?”

He was watching her, suddenly looking serious. “The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. You’re welcome to do as you like. But you did seem like you were enjoying the game, so if want to watch, that’s more than fine.”

She took a breath. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Griffin, but it really is rather late. I’d rather just go back to bed.”

He looked at her for a second before slowly nodding. “Sure, of course. Whatever you like. I just…” He took a breath of his own, looking, strangely, a bit anxious. “I just want you to know that you don’t need to feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to do in this house. Consider it your home as much as it is mine.”

She gazed at him momentarily, unsure even to herself what she was looking for, before smiling weakly. “That’s…that’s kind of you to say. I’ll try to remember it. Enjoy the game, Mr. Griffin.” Her smile turned a bit more genuine. “I look forward to hearing the highlights.”

He returned the smile easily, seeming pleased. “That’s a promise. Good night, Lexa.”

“Good night.”

She left the room, moving at speed back up the stairs and into her room; it was only when she’d arrived did she realize that she’d, after all that, forgotten the damn water. God.

Still, she returned to her room feeling a bit more at ease than she had leaving it. Despite all her uncertainty about Clarke, about Abby, about Jake, about the Griffins as a whole – uncertainty that still weighed on her – her short talk with Jake had, strangely enough, managed to calm it, at least for a bit.

Talk was cheap, she still believed that. But – maybe in this house, if nothing else – words were an important start.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pining lexa is so dramatic and extra planning her disappearance into the night i love her so much
> 
> thanks for reading, y'all, as always would love to hear what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke slowly blinked her eyes, fighting against whatever had dragged her into reluctant consciousness. What had woken her up? She thought back as much as her bleary mind would let her. Some noise… Oh, right, the creak of the stairs as someone went down. She supposed she wasn’t fully accustomed to the frequent sounds of people other than herself on the second floor. Well, whatever. She let her increasingly heavy eyelids slip shut. It was too early for this…

She sprang into alarmed wakefulness far too shortly later, sucking in a startled breath at the sound of a sharp metallic clang from somewhere downstairs. She scrabbled for her phone and let out a groan. 8:30, AKA far, _far_ too early to be dealing with, well, anything. Whoever was down there better be in the midst of a crisis, making her investigate like this.

Grumpily throwing off the covers, she stalked out of the room and down the stairs, fully ready to give whoever had disturbed her slumber hell – only to slow as she heard the very distinct sound of none other than Anya keeping up a steady stream of…she couldn’t hear what, exactly, but it didn’t sound happy. Oh, great. Not only was it ridiculously early, but she now had to deal with an angry Anya. Well, an angrier Anya. The girl wasn’t exactly known for being a ray of sunshine even on her better days.

She forced herself to continue on to the kitchen, stopping at the entry to scout out the scene. Anya stood with her back to her, and looked to be furiously grappling with…the coffee maker? Clarke took a cautious step further, the other girl’s curses now coming in loud and clear. “C’mon, you fucker, don’t make me turn you into scrap metal—”

Clarke let out a chuckle despite herself, only to immediately regret it when Anya turned sharply at the noise, brows drawn down and face like a thundercloud. She braced herself for the insult no doubt in bound, but was surprised when, after a moment, the other girl just turned back to the offending machine.

Clarke, unduly encouraged by the action – or, perhaps, lack of action – walked fully into the kitchen. “Having some trouble?”

She heard rather then saw Anya’s scowl. “I wouldn’t if you people were _normal_ , and had _normal_ appliances.” She wrestled with another part of the machine, to no avail. “I mean, is this a coffee machine, or a goddamn spaceship?!”

Clarke suppressed a smirk, a bit relieved that the other girl’s back was turned to her. “Blame my dad. He loves that thing.”

She rounded the island, saying, “Here, let me help—” She stopped short at the sight before her, previously concealed by the island. Coffee grounds carpeted the kitchen tiles around Anya’s feet, a coffee tamper off to the side. So _that’s_ what had woken her up.

When she lifted her eyes to meet Anya’s gaze, the other girl had the grace to look sheepish. Well, there was a bit of defiance in there, too, but it was a start. “Yeah, uh…things got a bit out of hand a few minutes ago. I may have lost my temper a little bit.” She shrugged. “I was gonna find a broom…right after I figured out how to use this damn thing.”

Clarke, after a speechless moment, found herself more than a little amused, but managed to keep most of it off her face. Anya was more than a little touchy right now, and she’d try to avoid baiting the lion if she could. “Here. I’ll show you.”

She strode up to the machine, wincing at the feel of the coffee grounds beneath her feet – at least it was dry – and began to point out parts of the machine. “You were messing with the espresso maker part. If you just want regular coffee…” She gestured towards the other side of the maker and pressed some buttons. “You can get that here.” Reaching up into the cabinet above the machine, she retrieved two mugs. “Now, I’m guessing you want some?”

She turned to Anya, only to find that the other girl was already watching her, almost _scrutinizing_ her. Her expression immediately straightened out into bored impassiveness at Clarke’s attention, eyes flicking over to the machine. “Uh…yeah. Sure.”

Clarke made herself disregard the moment, simply saying, “Great.”

As the coffee slowly dripped into the pot, they, after an awkward silence, began to clear away the proof of Anya’s first failed attempt at making coffee, working in quiet tandem.

As the last of the grounds were dumped, the maker let out a few beeps, causing Anya to jump before casting a dark look at the machine. Clarke hastily turned away, but she was pretty sure Anya saw her amused smile. She said nothing, though (and really, that was startling in and of itself – every past interaction of this length would have resulted in at least five or six sharp one-liners from the older girl) and Clarke busied herself with pouring the coffee into the mugs, handing one to Anya.

The other girl took it, rebuffing Clarke’s offer of cream or sugar. Clarke rolled her eyes as she made her way to the fridge. Anya _would_ take it black. Well, she had no similar clichés to fulfill, and proceeded to dump what was probably an alarming amount of both into her own mug, feeling Anya’s increasingly disgusted gaze on her as she did.

She forced herself to meet the other girl’s eyes defiantly, taking a calm sip. To her surprise, Anya’s disgust relaxed into something that could, theoretically, be called amusement – but that couldn’t be right. She’d spent the entire previous week making it clear to Clarke that her mere presence was an annoyance. As was becoming increasingly, infuriatingly common around the new houseguests, Clarke didn’t know what to think.

They sipped in silence for a moment, before Anya, unexpectedly, cleared her throat, looking pained. “Hey, princ—“ She stopped, making a face. “ _Clarke_. Thanks, or whatever.”

Clarke just nodded, not trusting herself to anything else and ruining the moment. Internally, though, she was working her way through a series of victory dances. Victory! Sweet, sweet victory. She knew it was only a matter of time before Anya fell prey to the tried and tested Clarke Griffin Charm Offensive™. Was Anya’s thanks a bit forced, a bit pained? Choked out with face fairly screaming reluctance? Well, yes. But It was miles above anything she would’ve gotten just a few days ago.

… _Damn_ , she was good. Now, all that was left was figuring out what the hell was going on with Lexa and seeing if she could make any headway there…

Her plotting, and the tentative peace of the moment, were cut short by the sound of the front door opening. Abby appeared in the kitchen entryway a moment later, wearing a tired expression and crumpled scrubs. Back from her all-night shift, then. She smiled at the sight of the two of them. “Well, isn’t this a surprise. Good morning, girls.”

Anya muttered something approximating a greeting before gripping her mug and moving at speed from the kitchen. Abby watched her leave, bemused, before turning to Clarke. “Was it something I said?”

Clarke gave up and broke into helpless laughter.

 

**

Her victory in the kitchen – or, at least, the ceasefire she’d apparently brokered – buoyed Clarke through the morning; it was the first real breakthrough she’d had with either of them, and she’d more than gladly take any progress she could get.

And so it was in a good mood and with high hopes that she took a breath and knocked on the door to Lexa and Anya’s bedroom a few hours later. A response came a moment later, and she cautiously opened the door to see Lexa on her bed, clutching a paperback, and Anya sprawled carelessly in her desk chair, legs outstretched.

Neither of them seemed especially thrilled to see her, but hey, that was fine; she was nothing if not optimistic. “Hey, guys.”

To her relief, Lexa gave her a small smile. “Hello, Clarke.”

Clarke took the gesture as encouragement and powered on. “Sooo, I don’t know what you two’s plans were for the day, but I’m getting lunch with my friends Wells and Raven and was wondering if you’d like to join?”

They stared at her, Lexa looking taken aback and even Anya a little surprised. It seemed that whatever they’d been expecting from, a lunch invite hadn’t been it.

She felt simultaneously more uneasy and ridiculous as the silence stretched on, watching as the two exchanged a quick glance. If she’d been keeping track she’d swear that the majority of her interaction with the two of them comprised some type of silence instead of actual conversing.

Finally, Anya spoke up. “I’ll pass.”

Clarke stared at her, unable to believe what she’d just heard. I’ll pass? I’ll _pass_?! “Sorry, what—“

Lexa hastily cut in. “What Anya _means_ ,” throwing an exasperated look at her defiant sister, “Is that we wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends, Clarke.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her. “You wouldn’t be intruding, _Lexa_. I want you guys to come.”

Lexa smiled, looking torn between unease and apology. “It’s really okay. I’m sure we’ll meet them eventually. Have a good time.”

Clarke looked between them – Lexa was fully leaning towards apologetic now, Anya infuriatingly expressionless after her blithe rejection – as the kind but unmistakable rebuff sank in.

“I- yeah, sure. See you later, I guess…”

She left without waiting for a reply, barely refraining from throwing her hands up in exasperation until she’d reached the hall. God dammit, she had had just about enough of them. Here she was, extending an olive branch, only for them to snap the damn thing into two. And she’d thought Anya had softened up this morning! _God_. And yeah, Lexa was as polite as ever, but she’d still had no qualms about turning her down.

One step forward, two steps back.

 

**

When she was sure Clarke had descended to the first floor – and if her stomps on the stairs were any indication, it was in poor humor – Lexa turned exasperatedly to Anya. “Really?”

Anya returned the glare, unrepentant. “What?”

“What happened to easing up on her?!”

“I am! I was a goddamn saint to her this morning,” her sister replied hotly.

“Yes, yes, the whole coffee fiasco, where, if I recall correctly, _she_ helped _you_ ,” Lexa said dryly. “Wow, An. You’re right up there with Mother Teresa.”

Anya snorted. “Okay, maybe I was a bit…to the point, but only because I really do have zero interest in meeting the girl wonder’s friends. Over _lunch_.” Her gaze sharpened. “And hey, nothing was stopping _you_ from taking her up on the offer. God knows you wanted to.”

Lexa looked away. “I…I don’t know. She’s had to deal with us nonstop for a week, I just wanted her to have some time with her actual friends without worrying about us…”

When no reply was made, she turned to see Anya massaging her temples, looking deeply pained. “Uh…are you okay?”

“No!” Anya shot back. “I’m not! Because my sister is an idiot!”

“Excuse me?!”

Anya sighed, looking incredibly put out. “Look, sis. This stopped being embarrassing a long time ago and is now just pathetic. We’re gonna be here for, I admit, a while. Stop stressing out about intruding on her life. She literally invited us. Even if I don’t wanna go, nothing’s stopping _you_.”

Lexa stared at her, taken aback. “…Uh…okay, then…” She let a smirk cross her lips. “I mean, if it matters to you that much.”

Anya puffed up, but let it out with a roll of her eyes at Lexa’s growing grin. “Yeah, yeah…”

They were quiet for a moment. Then: “You _were_ kind of a dick to her, though.”

 

**

Clarke threw herself into the passenger seat of the idling car, fuming. What was their problem? Well, Anya mostly, but at this point she’d like to have a few choice words with Lexa, too. She slammed the car door shut, the metal creaking ominously at the force.

“Woah, woah! The Swagon is a _lady_ , Clarke!”

She rolled her eyes as she buckled her seatbelt. “Please stop gendering your car, Wells. We’ve talked about this.”

Wells shot her a look as he reversed out of the driveway. “We can talk when you have a car of your own, C. Or, you know, a learner’s permit.”

She couldn’t stop her laugh. “Point. Also, Swagon? We’re still using that? You drive a Subaru Outback.”

“And it’s a station wagon worthy of esteem and respect. Damn, Clarke, I don’t question _your_ choices.”

She sent him a wry look, and he grinned unrepentantly. “Okay, I don’t question _all_ your choices. And anyway, is this any way to thank the guy who’s giving you a ride?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Wellsy.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“You got it…Wellsy.”

He rolled his eyes as he pulled up to the stop sign at the neighborhood’s exit. “So…wanna talk about what’s got you all riled up?”

Her smile disappeared. “Not particularly.”

He snorted. “Right. And I take it it’s nothing to do with the new roomies?”

“No.”

“Uh huh. Well, no worries. Raven will get it out of you.”

“Nice try, Wells, but I’m fine. There’s nothing to get out of me because I’m _great_.”

 

**

Raven took one look at her and said, ever to the point, “Who pissed in your Cheerios, Griffin?”

Clarke and Wells grimaced simultaneously; Raven looked amused. “God, y’all are too easy. It must be that whole twins-separated-at-birth thing you’ve got going on.” She redirected her attention to Clarke. “But anyway. What’s the deal?”

Clarke heaved a sigh. “Nothing, Raven. I’m fine. Can we just order?”

“Bullshit. And, yes. You may order me a fettuccine Alfredo. I have the feeling I’m gonna need something heavy.”

Clarke rolled her eyes but did as she was told, rising and stepping around Raven’s leg, outstretched in its metal brace, to head for the register. Wells joined her, returning a few minutes later and juggling three glasses of water and silverware.

Once they had all settled back into their seats, Raven focused her laser stare back on Clarke. “So, you were about to unveil your sorrows.”

Wells snorted, and hastily hid his smirk behind his glass when Clarke sent him a nasty glare. Turning back to Raven, she let out another sigh, seeing that her friend was about as likely to drop the topic as she was correcting the physics teacher at school. “God, fine. Just…new housemate stuff. I seriously don’t know what their deal is.”

Raven leaned forward eagerly, her eyes alighting with interest. “Ooh, the mysterious new roommates? You’ve been awfully secretive about them, Griffin. Spill.”

“There’s nothing _to_ spill. The older one hates me, the younger one runs away at the sight of me.  End of story.”

Raven and Wells exchanged sidelong glances. “Uh…yeah. Don’t take this the wrong way, Clarkie, but sometimes you can be a little…intense. There may be a little more to the story than maybe you, um, realize?”

Clarke huffed. “Why do you people always think I’m the one in the wrong? And, anyway, there’s nothing more to unpack, believe me.”

Raven folded her arms. “Try me.”

So Clarke, after yet another long-suffering sigh, told the whole sorry tale as quickly as she could, if only to get it done and over with, pausing only when their dishes arrived. Lexa and Anya’s arrival; the awkwardness and tension that had swiftly descended upon them and stayed; Anya’s hostility and Lexa’s puzzling behavior; and then, this morning’s supposed forging of peace with Anya, only for her to turn around so fast it damn near gave Clarke whiplash.

“…so yeah, they pretty much shut me down. Like, I don’t need for us to be best friends, but it’d be nice if they didn’t go out of their way to antagonize me, either.”

She stopped there, feeling both utterly drained and annoyed at Anya all over again. To her irritation, Raven and Wells looked at each other, again. “ _What_?”

Wells opened his mouth, then closed it, looking to Raven. “Look, Clarke, from what you’ve told us they’ve been through a lot, had to deal with more than their fair share of shitty people. It’s only been a week – maybe it’s not so surprising that they’re not warming up to you?”

Clarke opened her mouth, ready to protest, but Raven held up a forestalling hand. “It sucks that the older one – Anya? – is messing with you, don’t get me wrong. Just give it a little bit longer, and try not to let her get to you – or at least, don’t show it.” She sat back, apparently finished.

Clarke stared at her. “Ignore her? That’s your advice?”

Raven winced. “Uh, yes. For a little bit.”

Clarke snorted. “Wow. Awesome. Thanks, guys, really. And what do I do about Lexa, huh? Hold the door for her so she can slink away even faster?”

The two hesitated, and her glare only intensified.

 “Uh…” Wells finally spoke up. “Yeah. We’re reserving judgement on her ‘til we meet her in person.”

“ _What_? Why?”

“Maybe she’s just shy, or reserved, or…maybe something else,” he said awkwardly.

Clarke stared at him, utterly lost. When had her so-called friends decided to become so damn cryptic? She looked to Raven, but had no luck there, either, the normally straightforward girl suddenly deeply engrossed in her pasta. “Ugh, god. Whatever. You guys are being weird.”

Wells chuckled, looking sheepish. “We can talk about it later. But, _anyway_ , how screwed are we for AP Chem, right?”

Raven picked up the new thread of conversation eagerly (“Speak for yourself, Jaha”), and Clarke, after an eye roll at the blatant subject change, allowed herself to be swept up in the talk of the upcoming school year, discussing their shared classes and Clarke’s work for the art show and Bellamy’s little sister, who was apparently going to be starting her freshman year at Arkadia, much to her brother’s worry and displeasure.

But she didn’t forget their odd hesitance around the topic of Lexa, and wondered what it meant.

 

**

That night found Clarke in her most common spot in the house: sprawled gracelessly on her bed. Dinner had been another quiet affair – she’d had no desire to even try sparking conversation after the events of the day – and she’d returned to her room soon after.

She lay there, thoughts swirling around her lingering frustration with the sisters, Raven and Wells’ reticence over lunch (a reticence that continued on the drive back, despite his promise to talk later, she thought irritably), and general confusion about what to do or how to proceed. One step forward, two steps back…

The now familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs stirred her from her fruitless musings, though they didn’t trigger the alarm they had on the first night. As usual, Anya’s brash footsteps swept straight past her room. She listened, expecting to hear Lexa’s softer set right behind, but stiffened as she realized they’d stopped. Right outside her room. Just like the first night.

What was she playing at? Unlike the first night, Clarke was not tentatively curious, having at this point lost a great deal of the patience she’d been using to deal with Lexa. She was about to vault off her bed and yank the door open, demanding to know what the other girl’s deal was, until she practically fell off the bed in shock anyway when a hesitant knock sounded against the wood.

She stared, agog. This was a first. Neither of the sisters had attempted coming anywhere near her room, and she’d pretty much given up hope that they ever would. And now, apparently, the subject of her thoughts had literally come knocking. She looked around wildly. Oh, god, it was a mess, how long had those clothes been there?! Damn her carefree artist spirit; she looked like a goddamn _mess_.

The knock sounded again, and she took a breath, forcing herself to calm down somewhat before uttering a serene, “Come in.”

There was a pause, and then the door swung open to reveal Lexa, looking as nervous as Clarke felt. “Hello, Clarke. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Oh- uh- you’re not, don’t be.” They stared at each other, Clarke from her bed, Lexa from the doorway. “Uh, please, come in.”

Lexa did, examining the room as she did so. Clarke watched her nervously, seeing how she took in the Klimt prints and the few sketches of her own she’d pinned up, and, yes, the piles of clothing scattered throughout and depressingly large collection of mugs on the desk, balanced precariously between old sketchbooks and oil pastel stubs that really needed to be thrown away. She winced. God.

“Sorry, it’s, uh, kind of a mess in here…”

“It’s alright, Clarke.”

They stayed that way for a moment, Lexa standing awkwardly amid the detritus. Clarke sprang up, feeling really foolish now, and hastily cleared the clothes from her desk chair. “Here, have a seat.”

Lexa gave the chair an unsure look, but after a pause sat gingerly. The silence stretched out again.

Clarke’s stress levels were going through the roof. Lexa had come _here_ , had come to _her_ , and was now apparently content to do her best impression of a Roman marble statue. Although, come to think of it, she did have rather classic features, and a jawline that leant itself well to being studied…dammit, Griffin, focus!

“So…”

Lexa flushed a bit at Clarke’s obvious starter. “Uh, right. Clarke, I, I…I came to apologize.”

Clarke sat up a bit straighter, feeling her brows raise. _This_ was a surprise.

“For this afternoon, and, I suppose, in general,” Lexa continued, looking both awkward and sincere. “You were very kind to invite us, and I’m sorry we turned you down as we did. Especially Anya.”

Clarke digested this for a moment. “Well…why didn’t you just come?”

To her surprise, Lexa reddened. “I…I thought you were just being nice, Clarke, and you’ve been trying very hard with us this entire week, so I didn’t want to ruin your lunch by coming along.”

Clarke stared at her, momentarily stunned into silence. When she found her voice, it was to say, “Lexa, how can you think that? You could never ruin anything by just coming along. I wanted you to come – to meet my friends, since you’re going to be going to the same school as all of us, but also just because I thought you might have a nice time.”

Lexa looked away, seemingly embarrassed. “I…that’s very kind of you to say, Clarke, but it’s not like we’ve made it easy for you the past couple of days.”

Clarke folded her arms. “Okay, well, no, you guys haven’t, really.” She smiled lightly when Lexa looked up at her in surprise. “But, I don’t really blame you. New house, new people…it can’t be easy.”

“Still. I haven’t been as…friendly…as I could’ve been, and we both know Anya can be an, er, acquired taste.”

Clarke chuckled outright at that, and Lexa’s eyes seemed to widen at the sound. “Uh, yeah. That she certainly is.”

The tension in the room lifted somewhat, and after a moment, Lexa said, “I apologize for my behavior, Clarke. And, for what it’s worth, for Anya, too. She’ll come around.” She winced. “Eventually.”

“And you?” Clarke said, aware that her voice was a bit teasing.

Lexa took a breath. “I…will do what I can.”

“Lexa, hey,” Clarke cut in. “Don’t sweat it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I swear. If you’d rather I keep my space that’s totally fine—”

“No!” Lexa said hastily, then reddened again at the audible panic in her voice. “I mean, no, Clarke. I- I’d like for us to be friends.”

Clarke smiled. “I’d like that too.”

Lexa, after a moment, returned the smile, looking down shyly as she did, and Clarke was struck again by how pretty the other girl was. They stayed that way for a moment, before the sound of feet on the stairs caused them both to start.

Lexa sprang up, looking panicked, and said, “Well, I’m glad we talked about this, Clarke, truly. Good night, sleep well.”

“Uh, good night—?”

But the other girl was already at the door. She paused to flash a quick smile at Clarke, and was gone. A moment later her dad appeared in the same spot, looking curiously at her.

“Was that Lexa I just saw?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “No kidding. Well, I was gonna stop by, see how things were going with them, but it looks like they’re just fine.”

Clarke let out a shaky laugh. “I…guess, dad. I never really know with them.”

“Just be patient, honey. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Yeah…”

He took a few steps in and pressed a kiss to her head. “We’re in this together, Clarke. Let me know if you want to talk about anything.”

“Sure, dad.”

He smiled at her, and after wishing her goodnight, left her to her thoughts, the image of a shy smile and downturned eyes lingering in her head until she drifted off to sleep.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write - hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> Also, note re: setting for anyone interested: I'm kind of purposefully avoiding setting this story in any specific city, preferring to think of it as "Anytown, USA," but I realized that I do in my head imagine it to be somewhere along the West Coast. So there's that.

“Alright, everyone ready to go?”

Jake clapped his hands together in anticipation, surveying the group assembled before him in the foyer: an encouragingly smiling Abby; Anya, looking less then enthused; Lexa, trying to channel enthusiasm but really just exuding hesitance; and last not but least, Clarke, noticeably less excited about the day’s plans now that she’d realized that they would require her to spend the entire day in close contact with their new guests.

He suppressed a smile at the thought, giving himself a mental pat on the back. Abby thought she’d cornered the market on craftiness in their family, but he liked to think he could pretty damn sly when he needed to.

Abby answered for the group when it became apparent that none of the girls were about to volunteer a response. “I think we’re good, honey.” She turned to face the girls. “Right, girls?”

He couldn’t see her expression, but whatever it was proved sufficient to make Clarke muster up a look of painfully forced enthusiasm that really just looked like a grimace. “Uh, right.”

He grinned. “Great! Let’s head out!”

Like prisoners to the execution, the trio slowly trudged out the door; Abby hung back to shoot him an amused smile before shaking her head and following them to the car. Jake allowed himself a satisfied smile before closing the front door firmly behind him, the lock engaging with a solid click.

The Griffins’ day out had officially commenced.

 

**

Her dad was not _nearly_ as slick as he thought he was.

Clarke suppressed a groan as she, Lexa, and Anya piled themselves into the backseat of her dad’s Beemer – and _wow_ was it crowded back here – the three of them awkwardly arranging themselves until she and Anya ended up with a window seat apiece and Lexa, poor thing, found herself wedged between them.

(To be fair, it wasn’t so much random happenstance as it was Lexa seeing the naked fear on Clarke’s face at the thought of sitting next to Anya in an enclosed space and in close proximity for an indeterminate amount of time, and taking the seat before Clarke could do anything about it either way. She sat there now, wearing her usual stoic mask but under enough duress that it was made clear she thought herself a martyr – a combination that Clarke found alarmingly cute. But that was a thought to be explored at a later date.)  

The thought _currently_ being explored was her father’s complete lack of chill. Clarke rolled her eyes as she thought back to his delighted smile in the foyer, and earlier, to his cheery announcement at breakfast, reminding the three of them that, as this was their final Saturday before school started – and wasn’t _that_ an exciting thought –  there was no better day for a family outing. He and Abby both had the day fully available, after all, and it was only fitting that they had the day together to put a nice bookend on summer. Or something, Clarke had kind of lost track of his increasingly rose-tinted visions for the day as she busied herself with sending progressively more alarmed looks of panic to her mother (who had, of course, pretended not to see them, preferring to hide her increasingly amused smiles behind her mug and making noises of encouragement whenever Jake looked to her for support. Traitor.).

They would go out to lunch, he planned out grandly, and then head to the museum to see that special van Gogh exhibition currently going on, since Clarke had been dying to see it for weeks and weeks, wasn’t that right, honey? (And okay, yes, she had been wanting to see it – they had all three versions of _Bedroom in Arles_ , for god’s sake, of course she was interested – but this wasn’t exactly the scenario she’d been envisioning…) From there, he finished, they’d just go “where the wind took them.”

Which found the entire Griffin-Woods clan, as her dad had spontaneously dubbed them – a title that made Lexa turn curiously red and even caused the corners of Anya’s lips to turn up – stuffed in his BMW several hours later, headed off to lunch.

Awesome.

And he wasn’t even being subtle about his plans for the day, she thought irritably as his eyes flicked up to survey them in the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time. She knew that he thought his day out would vanquish the lingering threads of awkwardness between her and the sisters once and for all, and potentially also bring about world peace and stabilize the international economy. And that was all very well – things _had_ been better since she and Lexa had talked that night in her room – but that didn’t mean she was mentally prepared for an entire day of interaction. What had happened to patience, and letting things develop naturally? She shot a dark look at the back of her dad’s head. She just hoped his good intentions didn’t backfire spectacularly.

She found herself studying Lexa, who was currently giving polite, if characteristically brief, answers to her parents’ questions as they sped down the road. As nice as it was to have the ice thawed out a little between them, she still didn’t really _know_ anything about the other girl. Though Lexa no longer made hasty escapes upon Clarke’s entrance into rooms, now staying and even chatting with her, she _did_ have a knack for keeping the conversation away from herself; Clarke often found herself chatting away about school or her art or whatever else without even realizing it, Lexa just listening and nodding along with a small smile on her face. And it was…nice, but it would be even better to hear from the other girl, too.

Lexa, perhaps feeling her gaze, turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly; Clarke just smiled before awkwardly looking down at her phone. And that was another thing – she was usually more than confident and collected, never having any trouble talking to people or making friends – her dad’s teases about her seemingly constant social activities proved that – but Lexa brought out a slight…hesitance, or awkwardness in her that she’d only ever experienced – and briefly at that – with Finn, which, ugh. Another thought to be explored at a later date.

 

**

Lunch, against all expectations, was not a disaster.

Jake and Abby, both having identified the various subjects that tended to cause tension between the girls, steered clear, keeping the conversation light and in perfectly inoffensive waters. It paid off, making for lighthearted – if not terribly complex – conversation, and if there was a brief silence here and there, it was still a far cry from the botched dinner of the first night. Jake was at his most charming, coaxing Lexa into real conversation and even teasing a quick smile or two out of Anya; perhaps they’d been around him enough now to, if not trust him, not have their guards up as high as they had previously.

The conversation had skated from topic to topic, starting from a spirited debate between Jake and Abby about which burger was truly the best at the café they were at (Jake stubbornly sticking with the BBQ bacon burger, Abby, ever the purist, insisting that the original remained the ideal). It was only after Jake turned to Clarke and demanded her support that she relented and joined the discussion, throwing in her support with her father (and earning a high-five from him and an eye-roll from her mom in the process). From there, Jake had chatted idly about his week (e.g. making as many nerdy engineering jokes as he could in a two-minute span), about how Liverpool was faring (a topic that always made both Clarke and Abby groan, neither of them much for the sport) and anything else that came to mind. He had a way of putting the people around him at ease, and employed it fully – and even if it was apparent to the girls that he was trying, they couldn’t find it in their hearts to fault him for it. 

Abby, for her part, had delighted in entertaining the group with some of her more choice ER stories, of which she had a nearly inexhaustible supply, ranging from the bizarre to the thoroughly gross; perhaps unsurprisingly, the stories caused Anya to perk up, and then listen raptly. She even asked questions from time to time, interested despite herself, and Abby, warming up to her subject at the attention, gleefully pulled out her most graphic tales, relenting only when Jake and Clarke finally groaned in protest (Lexa, despite remaining quiet, was privately a little relieved). Their burgers arriving (Jake crowing in delight to see that not only Anya but Lexa as well had gone with his recommendation) may have had something to do it with, too.

It was weird, and it was nice, and Clarke, despite fearing the worst, realized midway that she was actually enjoying herself.

Towards the end of the meal, burgers finished and dents put into the vast piles of fries, Jake cleared his throat. “Alright, ladies, are we feeling museum-ready? Because after ingesting that much grease I think I could use an infusion of culture, myself.”

Clarke snorted. “It was your idea to come here, dad.”

“You know I can never say no to burgers,” he replied in a long-suffering tone, patting his stomach. “It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“How exactly is it a _blessing_?”

They both turned to Anya, who looked equally surprised, having seemingly voicing the sarcastic question without realizing it. She turned a tad pink at their attention, but stood her ground, raising an eyebrow at Jake.

He grinned. “Because if I _could_ say no, I would have to eat something else. Like a salad.”

“Which may not actually be a horrible idea—” Abby began, but was hastily cut off by Clarke. “Oh no, we’re not starting this debate again. Uh, dad, you were saying? Museum?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, getting back to the subject at hand. “It’s culture time.”

“Please stop calling it that,” she said, more than a little amused. “And I’m ready, but…” She glanced at Anya and Lexa. “There are a bunch of things we can do today, it doesn’t _have_ to be a museum...”  
  
“It’s fine, Clarke,” Lexa said, finally speaking up. “I’d like to see the exhibition. And Anya would, too, I’m sure. Right, An?”

Anya jerked suddenly, as if someone had kicked her under the table, and glared at Lexa before forcing it into a grimacing smile. “Uh, right. Museums. Yes. I love those.”

Lexa looked briefly as if she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes, but gave Clarke a small smile. “Great. And anyway, Clarke, we have to go, after Mr. Griffin made it clear just how many weeks you’ve been _dying_ to go.”

Clarke reddened. Was Lexa… _teasing_ her? Well, this was a new development.  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said with a sweet smile, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m sure we’ll all learn a lot.”

Lexa quirked a brow. “I’m sure we will.”

The moment was cut off by a cleared throat, and they turned to see both Jake and Abby regarding them with poor concealed amusement. “If you two are ready…?”

They hastily assured them they were, and after quick trips to the restroom to wash away the inevitable burger grease, the group was off. After all, it was culture time.

 

**

The museum was humming with activity, unsurprising as it was a Saturday and interest in the van Gogh exhibit remained high. They waited in line for the exhibit for at least thirty minutes, Anya only growing more restless as they did. Even Lexa, who was less opposed to the idea then her sister, began to wonder if the effort was worth it.

Finally, though, they were let in, and just as promptly lost each other, the various galleries of the exhibit crowded and not exactly conducive to a group of their size sticking together. Lexa, after looking around and realizing that yes, she was on her own, set off with a sigh. May as well see what the fuss was about.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back at the entrance. Hmm. Was that it? She had, she supposed after a bit of reflection, sort of…strode through the galleries. Not power walking, exactly, but there had been a definite purpose to her step. It wasn’t that she didn’t have an appreciation for the art, but she just wasn’t predisposed to examining any single artwork for endless minutes, as she’d seen other people doing. She just…didn’t see what there was to look at for that long.

Everyone else, even Anya, was still missing, though, presumably elsewhere in the exhibit. So, without anything much else to do, and feeling a bit bad about taking it as quickly as she had the first time, she squared her shoulders and marched off again.

Eventually, Lexa came onto the same crowd in the second to last gallery she’d seen the first time, and had walked straight past, not wanting to deal with the dozens of shoulders and elbows she’d have to get past to see whatever it was they were studying.

She probably would’ve done the same this time around, admittedly, but a sudden shift in the crowd made her pause. A small break in the sea of people opened up, and she saw a flash of distinctive, wavy blond hair. Clarke.

Lexa hesitated a moment longer. She wasn’t _sure_ it was Clarke, of course, and even it was she had no way of knowing if the other girl would even welcome her company. But then again…she had no idea where any of the others were, and joining Clarke beat aimlessly wandering.

(It was also possible that she just wanted to go to Clarke, because she felt hopelessly drawn to her and wanted to talk to her or even just be near her, but admitting that even to herself felt both alarming and borderline creepy. So going to Clarke merely for practicality’s sake it was.)

Mind made up, she took a breath and plunged into the dense crowd of people, slipping past tourists and mothers with young children and elderly couples to get closer to the display. Now that she was in the crowd, it was impossible to look for Clarke, and instead she just kept moving until she could go no further. Lexa stopped and looked around, but could barely make out the display in from of her – it looked like three paintings hung side by side, all similar, but hard to make out more, her view partially obstructed by heads and shoulders as it was. She huffed, frustrated, and looked to her right, trying to see if she could make some headway there – and froze.

Several people down, suddenly visible through a break in the crowd, was Clarke.

Any lingering doubt Lexa felt about entering the crowd in search of Clarke vanished as she studied the other girl’s face. Clarke was staring at the paintings raptly, her gaze soft and filled with awe. So absolute was her study that she seemed ignorant of the push and pull of the crowd around her; she’d managed to get her way to the front, and stubbornly stood her ground there, giving all her attention to the art.

Lexa couldn’t look away. She’d never seen the other girl like this; laughing or angry or teasing or serious, yes, but never colored with such…wonder. And if she’d thought Clarke was pretty before, well…she’d have to revise her opinion. In this moment, she’d never been more beautiful.

The crowd jostled again, and Clarke’s attention was broken as a wayward bag smacked her arm. She turned reflexively, and in the process made sudden eye contact with Lexa. Lexa fought against the urge to melt into the crowd. She’d been caught staring. _Again_.

Rather than be annoyed, though, Clarke smiled and waved eagerly, motioning for Lexa to join her. Lexa looked around uneasily – she was going to have to step on a _lot_ of toes to get there – but Clarke just rolled her eyes and motioned again. Lexa sighed; who was she kidding, she’d have done anything for Clarke in that moment, joining her a few feet away hardly registered.

So, pushing through the crowd, muttering apologies and blithely ignoring the glares she earned along the way, she made her way to the other girl. Clarke whispered an excited greeting, and Lexa replied, though she wasn’t sure what with.

Clarke returned her gaze to the art in front of them. “Isn’t this amazing?”

Lexa followed her admiring stare, and blinked in surprise. Clarke really had secured a great vantage point; Lexa could actually see the entire display: three paintings, all of the same simply furnished and brightly colored bedroom. Looking at them now, they indeed looked vaguely familiar, and she supposed she must’ve seen them in a textbook or poster at one point or another; above them, stenciled on the wall in tall letters, was “Van Gogh’s Bedrooms,” a description that Lexa found rather obvious and not especially helpful. “Yeah, it is.”

“This is the first time they’ve been displayed together,” Clarke continued quietly, enthusiasm coloring her words. “It’s so cool to see them side-by-side. It really helps in comparing them.”

Lexa looked closer, and saw that each was in fact slightly different from the others. Huh. “Did he paint them at separate times?”

Clarke nodded. “After the first one was water damaged, he felt compelled to make copies of it. He felt it was one of his best works.”

Lexa, not sure what to say, just nodded silently. After another moment of observing the paintings, trying to see what drew Clarke to them so raptly, she gave up and asked, “And what do you like about them?”

“Oh, well…” Clarke paused. “We studied them in my art class last year, so it’s cool to see them in person. But also…” To her surprise, Clarke looked a tad embarrassed. “I just like the idea of documenting this space that’s kind of, like, your refuge, you know?” She laughed a little self-deprecatingly. “I spend a lot of time in my room, so I can sort of identify with his urge to paint a space that’s just your own. It makes it permanent, in a way that only art really can.” She sighed wistfully. “And, of course, just being able to paint with even a fraction of that talent would be amazing.”

“I’ve seen some of your work, Clarke,” Lexa said unthinkingly. “I think you have a wonderful talent.”

Clarke turned red. “When did— oh, in my room? Oh, that’s sweet, Lexa, but you don’t have to—”

“No, really,” Lexa said, thinking back to the sketches she’d seen pinned up in Clarke’s room; the sketch of her parents and the few nature scenes had, at least to her untrained eye, been lovely. “They were wonderful, Clarke.”

Clarke reddened further, but seemed pleased. “Well…thanks.”

Lexa just nodded, and after a moment Clarke turned back to the paintings. “They really are beautiful, though.”

Lexa watched as her gaze turned soft and wistful once more, and then, after a moment, turned back to face the art herself. “Yes. They are.”

 

**

While Clarke occupied herself with staring at the paintings, and Lexa, with staring at Clarke, Anya, meanwhile, had found a bench in a dark corner of one of the galleries and promptly claimed it for herself, settling in for what was looking to be the long haul.

She, unlike her sister, had neither a blonde to moon over nor any particular interest in the art, and thus, after a single swift rotation of the exhibit considered her duty done. She’d been fully prepared to take her newly acquired iPhone for a spin – Jake had presented them to her and Lexa a few days ago, explaining tactfully that he’d noticed they’d lacked phones and would certainly need them in the upcoming school year; no amount of polite (and not so polite) refusals had rebuffed him, so she supposed she may as well use it – when, as if summoned by her thoughts, none other than Jake himself appeared, waving to her merrily as he approached the bench. Anya suppressed a sigh. There went her moment of peace.

“Anya, there you are!”

“Hey, Mr. Griffin.” She tried to inject some semblance of enthusiasm into her tone, but was pretty sure she failed miserably. Oh well.

“Done with the art so soon?”

“Yep.” She raised a brow. “And if you’re coming to join me, that implies that you’re about done yourself, no?”

He chuckled. “Caught me. Don’t mention this to Clarke,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “But I’ve never had much of a head for art. I wander the galleries and nod seriously at the paintings when other people approach, and hope that I’m passing.”

She smirked. “Right. So, did you, uh, take to stealing bags this time out of boredom?”

He followed her gaze to the purse held awkwardly in his hand, and laughed aloud. “Ha! No, it hasn’t gotten to that point…yet. Abby’s been using me as her personal concierge and bag-handler for years now, I’m afraid.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “I knew what I was signing up for, to be fair. She’s in the restroom, she’ll be back soon enough.”

“Well, it’s a good look for you.”

“Why, thank you.” Jake smiled and took a seat a bit further down the bench, letting out a long sigh as he did. “Phew. Roaming around museums is bizarrely tiring.”

She hummed in agreement, and they sat together in surprisingly amiable silence, observing the museumgoers. After a moment, Anya said, “If you don’t like museums, why’d you bother?”

He glanced at her. “What, you mean why did I come?”

She nodded. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, before saying, “Well, Clarke loves them, if that wasn’t obvious. Abby likes them, too. So I figure that even if they’re not really my thing, well, sometimes you do things to make other people happy, to show you care about them, and that’s enough. Clarke’s watched enough soccer games with me for the same reason, god knows. I like to think that’s what family’s about, anyway.” He laughed suddenly, sounding a little embarrassed. “But I’m a bit of a bleeding heart, as you no doubt already knew.”

Anya cleared her throat, getting rid of the odd tightness that had formed there. “Ha. Yeah, well. It’s a nice thought. Seems like a lot of work, though.”

“Sometimes…” He trailed off, and Anya looked up to see him staring into the crowd. She followed his gaze to see Abby approaching, and looked over at him again to see a small smile appearing on his face. “It’s always worth it, though.”

 

**

It was almost dark when they left the museum; Jake had declared to Abby and Anya that they’d give Clarke and Lexa ten more minutes before they went looking for them, and even then didn’t manage to actually leave for a half hour after that.

The group sat silently in the car for a minute after piling in, everyone a bit weary after the day’s activities, before Jake suddenly spoke up. “Hey, folks, sunset’s almost here. If we hurry, we can get to the beach in time to make it.”

No one had any objections, or if they did they were too tired to voice them, so without any undue delay, they were off.

The beach was beginning to clear when they arrived, the daytime families having already left, the surfers withdrawing from the water as it grew darker, and thus they were able to find parking slightly less painfully then they might’ve otherwise. Still, there were couples and groups here and there, no doubt there to watch the sunset as well. It was growing a tad chilly, a cool breeze blowing off the water, and it was only after Jake triumphantly pulled a slightly sandy blanket from the trunk did the group file out of the car.

They couldn’t’ve timed it more perfectly: within five minutes of their finding a spot on the sand, streaks of color began to stretch across the sky, glorious bands of pink and orange that covered the entirety of sky over the beach and converging on the increasingly dark sun as it set into the horizon; the entire scene came together to drench the beach in a dramatic and almost surreal quality.

Lexa took in the event with awe; she’d never seen a sunset like it, and a glance over at Anya confirmed her sister’s equal wonder. The five sat there quietly, the cool wind ruffling their hair as they enjoyed the tableau before them.

Some minutes later, as the sky darkened further and the pinks turned almost to reds, she happened to glance over to her right, and paused as she saw Jake and Abby, a bit away from the girls, Abby leaning into Jake as he wrapped his arm around her. The two talked quietly, the soft looks on their faces confirming that they’d apparently forgotten temporarily about their charges, and it was only as Jake leaned in for a kiss that Lexa, realizing she’d been staring, hastily turned away, feeling warm with embarrassment even as something like longing coursed through her.

The sudden movement caught Clarke’s attention, and she, having glanced over at her parents, turned to Lexa, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they’re always like that. It’s a little gross.”

“No…it’s nice. It…it must be nice to feel like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Comfortable with someone. Safe.” Her voice was a little wistful.

After a pause, Clarke said, “You have Anya.”

“Of course,” Lexa said immediately. “Always. And she has me. But this is different.”

Clarke didn’t argue the point. “Yeah.”

They didn’t discuss it further, and as they quietly watched the sun drop completely into the horizon, taking the day with it, Lexa became aware of something like melancholy settling over her. Melancholy, combining with the same longing from before – though for what, she didn’t dare contemplate.

The last inch of sun disappeared, and the beginnings of night began to sweep over the beach. Their day out had come to a close.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back with an update! Sorry for the delay on this one, a crazy week and nasty bout of writer's block combined to thoroughly confound my efforts here. (And okay, yes, Pokemon GO may have also happened, dealing devastating blows to my productivity and battery life. I'm a slave to fads, what can I say?)
> 
> Enjoy!

As it always did, summer, after weeks of lazy dragging, suddenly began to go very quickly, the days flashing by until Clarke, Lexa, and Anya found themselves checking and re-checking their backpacks the night before the first day of school. Well, more accurately, Clarke was re-checking her bag, and planning and arranging her outfit just so; neither of the sisters seemed overly concerned, Lexa having asked a few questions about what she would need, and doing a once-over on her bag accordingly – Anya not even bothering to do that. It was also possible, though, that Clarke was just a tad neurotic about these kinds of things; she always liked to put her best foot forward, and the first day of sophomore year, no longer a newbie to high school, certainly seemed to warrant the effort. She would’ve thought that Anya and Lexa would’ve wanted the same – it _was_ to be their very first day at Arkadia – but she kept her thoughts to herself. She couldn’t worry about it overly long, anyway; she had a backpack to pack, and repack, making sure that she had notebooks for every class, and her pencil bag was adequately stocked with mechanical pencils and pens and highlighters of every shade. School was just another battlefield to be analyzed and defeated, and Clarke Griffin never backed down from a challenge.

She was up suitably early the next morning, using the extra time to straighten her hair and carefully apply her makeup before donning the blouse and skirt she’d picked for the day. She was checking her appearance in the mirror and giving herself a satisfied nod – battle armor ready, game face on – when the door to the guest – or, she supposed she should say, Lexa and Anya’s room – opened with a creak, footsteps sounding their way to the hallway bathroom. Clarke let out an annoyed huff: finally, they were awake. She’d been half wondering if she’d have to go wake them up herself.

She was shouldering her bag (after checking it a final time) and heading for the door when she heard twin sets of footsteps on the stairs. What the hell? She’d heard their door open barely ten minutes ago. Had they slept in their school clothes?! Clarke sped down the stairs to see Anya and Lexa sitting at the kitchen counter, both calmly eating cereal and, in Anya’s case, drinking coffee. They looked up at her slightly dramatic entrance, Anya raising a brow and saying, “About time, Griffin. I was gonna send Lexa up to drag you out of bed.”

“How did you guys get ready so fast?!”

Anya sent her a quizzical look over her mug. “Not all of us felt the need to put on a full face of makeup, I guess. It’s just school.”

“Since when is _eyeliner_ a full face—“

“What Anya means,” Lexa cut in a little despairingly, wearily slipping into her now familiar role of mediator for the umpteenth time, “Is that you look very pret- very nice, Clarke.”

“That is _not_ what I—” Anya cut off as Lexa none too subtly kicked her ankle, returning instead to her cereal with a dark look.

Clarke was a little mollified.  “Well, thanks, Lexa.” She looked the girl over; she looked, as always, unfairly good in jeans and a simple button up. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

An audible snort from Anya had Clarke turning to her with a wry grin. “You look nice too, Anya.”

Anya just rolled her eyes as Lexa laughed. Clarke turned to the oven clock and felt a bolt of panic. “Oh, crap, Wells is gonna be here any minute! Are you guys ready?”

They just looked at her. She let out a short sigh, feeling the expected tension and anticipation start to settle on her. “Of course you are. Well, Dad left us lunches in the fridge, so if your bags are ready we should be good to go…”

Lexa smiled at her. “Eat something, Clarke. We’re fine.”

“Right. Right. Just, you know, first day jitters, I guess,” Clarke said sheepishly. “And, hey! It’s your first day at Arkadia!”

“Can’t wait,” Anya said, her voice suggesting that she in fact probably could, indefinitely if required. “Go…what did you say it was? Sky Crew? Weird as hell mascot. Actually, that’s not even a mascot.”

“Yeah,” Clarke admitted. “Kind of a long story—” Her phone chimed, and she glanced down to see:

 **Wells [7:22 AM]** : outside

 **Wells [7:22 AM]** : it’s too early for this

 **Wells [7:22 AM]** : strike that it’s too early for anything

 **Wells [7:22 AM]** : wait I’m finally gonna meet the infamous roomies nvm this is gonna be awesome

Her lips twitched. “—that will have to wait. C’mon, Wells is outside.”

 

**

Lexa didn’t know what to expect. She’d heard bits and pieces about Arkadia, and Wells, and Raven, and all of Clarke’s other friends from the girl herself, but knew that she would have to experience it all firsthand to truly know what she was in for. The thing was, Lexa had a pretty good sense of herself by this point; life, for better or worse, had driven her to self-reflection on a fairly frequent basis. And she knew herself to be, in general, a bit reserved, a tad introverted, both by circumstance and personality; she played her cards close to her chest, only letting Anya in.

Well, Anya and Clarke. The blonde had managed to break past her guard the second she’d blown Lexa away, that moment she’d first seen Clarke in the entrance of the Griffin house, and without any apparent effort or even recognition on her part. And since then, in the days and weeks flying by, she’d only felt herself grow more and more charmed by Clarke, letting her in and telling her more than she did with pretty much anyone save her sister. Frankly, she was in trouble. Anya knew it, and Lexa knew it; only Clarke remained oblivious, though Lexa didn’t think she was being overly discreet in her fascination (or, as Anya called it, “your goddamn pathetic as hell doe eyes”). Still, Lexa would keep Clarke in the dark, if she could. She would assume nothing about the other girl, and didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way or, equally vital, jeopardize her and Anya’s situation at the Griffins’.

But anyway. Her general circumspection, combined with the knowledge that she wouldn’t be there for long, tended to make her something of an outsider at whatever school she was attending at the time, a situation that usually suited her perfectly. She stuck with Anya, and kept to herself, and counted the days until her sister turned eighteen.

That’s what she had been doing before the emergency room, before Abby. But everything had changed, now. No longer would she take the school bus to her crumbling school, or focus her energies on thwarting the shitty foster parent of the month; she would be riding with Clarke’s friend to Arkadia High, widely recognized as one of the city’s best schools, and coming back to the gracious home in the nice part of town and its even nicer residents. The thought gave her a bit of whiplash, even now, several weeks into the arrangement, though she could, at least, admit to herself that she wasn’t nearly as wary around the elder Griffins as she was at the outset.

So, school. Junior year. Well, this was hardly the first time she’d been the new girl. She wasn’t going to let it start getting to her now, no matter how unusual the circumstances.

Newly resolved, she squared her shoulders and followed Clarke and Anya out the door to the car waiting at the curb, trying not to linger on the blonde as she did; despite the teasing nature of their exchange in the kitchen, she’d never meant a compliment more. Especially since the first challenge of the day loomed: meeting Clarke’s friend Wells. Best friend, if the fondness in the other girl’s voice whenever she talked about him was any indication. And just a friend, she hoped, with a surge of _something_ that she had absolutely no right to feel. Hmph. What, she wondered, would a best _friend_ to Clarke Griffin be like?

 

**

Extremely nice, as it turned out. Within five minutes of their meeting, it was painfully clear that Wells Jaha didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Lexa made a mental note to ensure than Anya never found herself alone with him; she’d eat him alive without even realizing it.

Wells had been gracious and kind from the moment she’d hesitantly joined Anya in the backseat, turning in his seat and smiling widely. “So, you’re the girl who’s making Clarke finally have to share her floor!”

“Wells!” Clarke had immediately begun a protest, but her own smile belied her amusement.

“Just saying, it’s about time, C,” he said, still grinning. He offered a hand. “Hey there. I’m Wells.”

She took it and shook. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a nice change from other teenage boys, forever needing to prove something. “Lexa. And I’m guessing you already met Anya.”

“Yep. Nice to meet you both! I have to say, it’s about time that we have some new blood at Arkadia. It’s not that big of a place; we’ve known everyone there since our playground days.”

She smiled, a little tensely. “Glad to help.”

“It’s a good thing, I promise,” he said as he pulled onto the main street. “But, anyway, you’ll fit right in.”

I’m not so sure, she thought, but just said, “I certainly hope so.”

Undeterred by her short replies, he ploughed onwards, saying, “So, how has life at the Griffins’ been? Please tell me Mr. Griffin has been breaking out the dad jokes.”

“God, is there any doubt?” Clarke rolled her eyes. “It’s like the man has a quota to meet.”

Lexa chuckled despite herself. “Yes, he’s been doing his best. But…” She felt Clarke’s eyes on her in the rearview mirror. “It’s not so bad. Everyone’s been very, uh, welcoming.”

“Welcoming, huh?” Wells said after a pause. Now she felt _his_ eyes on her. “Well, glad to hear it. Our Clarke here can be like a dog with a bone when she’s after something.”

Lexa felt her brows climb. After something? She looked at Clarke, to see that the other girl was looking at Wells flatly.

“You did _not_ just call me a dog, Wells.”

“I said it with love, C—”

“Oh no, don’t you ‘C’ me—“

Lexa settled back, letting the two of them fall into what sounded like very familiar bickering. She felt a small smile curl her lips: they almost sounded like her and Anya. A glance at her sister confirmed that that she was equally amused.

Some minutes later Wells cleared his throat, interrupting Clarke’s latest remark as he pulled into a large, busy parking lot. “Okay, well, _anyway_ – we’re just about here. Woods sisters, welcome to Arkadia High School.”

Lexa eyed the large building in front of them. It was very…shiny. Whoever had designed it had clearly had been going for high-tech, or perhaps had space on the mind; the whole thing, together with the few other buildings around it, looked a bit like a space ship. Needless to say, it was a far cry from their old school.

“Huh,” Anya said, her voice more than a little wry. “Go Sky Crew.”

“So, Lexa?” Clarke said unexpectedly. “Ready?”

Lexa straightened at the implicit challenge in Clarke’s words. Clarke may be, as Wells had said, a ‘dog with a bone,’ but she hadn’t endured half the things Lexa had, or come out stronger for it, as Lexa had. She wasn’t about let a new school, no matter how unfamiliar or posh, get to her, not after everything else she’d made it through. “Of course.”

 

**

Four class periods later, she was seriously considering taking back her words. As Wells had said – or perhaps, she reflected now, _warned_ – she was new blood in a school that was clearly not accustomed to it. She’d been regarded with interest at registration, in the halls, in every class as the teacher called out attendance. The only saving grace was that it was the first day of school, and thus she wasn’t dragged to the front and made to bear the indignity of ‘telling the class a little about herself,’ as had been the case at other schools at the past, and was just as horrible as it sounded. By second period, she’d felt herself slipping entirely behind her stoic mask, hiding every thought and emotion without any conscious thought. She’d worn this mask for long periods throughout her life; it took no effort at all now to call it up when needed.

And god, was it needed. From the minute she’d walked into Arkadia (or, more simply, ‘Ark,’ as half the student body seemed to refer to it), she’d been overwhelmed with her surroundings. Gone were the rotting ceiling tiles of her past schools, the inevitable trash can positioned in the middle of every other hallway to catch the water dripping a variety of leaks, the broken down bathrooms and empty vending machines. Everything here was either brand new or so well-maintained as to make the difference negligible, gleaming for the first day of school, and she’d had to force back the surge of mixed amazement and irritation sweeping over her when she realized Clarke’s anxious gaze was on her. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that such disparity existed between schools, between lives. That different worlds could be contained within the same city. And so she turned to the hovering girl and offered a small smile, the expression becoming more genuine when the blonde sagged with relief.

Clarke had kindly gone with them to the registration office, and then from there escorted them both to their respective homerooms, blithely ignoring both girls’ repeated insistences that the aid wasn’t necessary. And it wasn’t – she and Anya undoubtedly would’ve found their way eventually – but it was appreciated, even if the trip took longer than it might have, Clarke stopping every five feet to give or receive excited greetings with what seemed like the entire student body. Well, perhaps it wasn’t that surprising – Clarke was one of the more charismatic and extroverted people she’d met; it wasn’t exactly unexpected that she be, well, popular. And she clearly was, though didn’t seem to make a big deal out of it either way, and without fail introducing Lexa and Anya at every interaction. It would’ve been touching, had either girl had the remotest interest in making friends, but as it was they forced polite smiles and waves and tried to fade into the background. Not that their lack of interest did anything to stem the news from spreading that there were two new kids at Ark, sisters, and friends with Clarke Griffin, no less. Whether or not this was Clarke’s intention, by the time she dropped Lexa off at her homeroom, sending her off with a smile and a cheery promise to find her at lunch, the entire school seemed to know who she was. God. So much for laying low and counting down the months. Never underestimate the ability of high school students to spread news, the faster the more interesting. Anya had looked back at her with more than a little panic in her eyes as Clarke tugged her off to find her own homeroom, and Lexa had been torn between laughing at her sister’s misfortune or panicking about her own.

She’d received her schedule in homeroom, and winced at the classes laid out before her – English, chemistry, calculus, and Spanish, all before lunch. Analytically minded as she was, she’d always preferred the sciences, but that didn’t mean she wanted them back-to-back, especially with the languages – never her forte – in there to boot.

By the time fourth period Spanish rolled around, she was ready to cut class, forever, maybe hail a cab and find her way back to her old school. The introductory lessons given by each class’ teacher made clear that this was not going to be a thrilling year, academically at least. She’d always prided herself on excelling in her classes, refusing to let what passed as her home life ruin her chances elsewhere, but it was obvious that classes at Arkadia were going to be _tough_. The teachers were uniformly kind enough, none seeming overtly horrible or unreasonable, but were also focused and no-nonsense, reminding them all about their looming SATs and AP exams and everything else so many times Lexa was ready to jump ship.

While Señora Rosales talked through her syllabus, Lexa miserably wondered how Anya was faring, and hoped that her ever testy sister hadn’t mouthed off at a teacher or, you know, punched someone. Anya was a senior, after all, and no doubt was enduring countless speeches about recommendation letters and college application and all the rest. She felt a surge of simultaneous sympathy at her sister’s plight, and relief that it wasn’t her in those classes. Lexa wasn’t opposed to college, exactly, but the idea of taking out infinite student loans to pursue career goals she hadn’t even formulated didn’t seem exactly attractive, either. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to broach the subject with Anya; the girl was so singularly focused on becoming legal and winning her freedom from the system that Lexa wasn’t even sure that she’d really thought beyond that.

She stood with relief when the bell finally rang an hour later, signaling the merciful beginning of lunch. Thank god. She needed a break. Sitting with Anya in a corner somewhere, free from polite small talk and endless introductions and forced smiles, sounded perfect.

 

**

“I’m dropping out,” Anya announced. The words were a bit muffled, as her head was buried her in arms atop the cafeteria table.

Lexa snorted. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said distractedly, more interested in freeing her brown paper lunch bag from its backpack confines. “What made you—”

Anya raised her head when Lexa cut off, to see her sister staring at her lunch bag, expression unreadable. “Uh…did the bag break you?”

Lexa wordlessly turned the bag so that Anya could see what she’d been staring at. Scribbled on the bag in black marker in bold letters was, “Have a GREAT first day at school, Lexa! You’ll do great! -Jake” Underneath the cheery message was a smiley face wearing sunglasses and, bafflingly, flashing a peace sign.

Anya stared at the message for several long moments before bending and digging her own lunch sack out of her backpack. Neither of them had bothered to look at their lunches when Clarke had handed them out, stuffing them directly into their backpacks as they headed out the door. Sure enough, a similar message was scrawled across the bag, with an added exclamatory remark about “SENIOR YEAR!” She stared at her bag, eyes despairing, before letting her head fall back onto the table. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she moaned. “Why does he have to be so fucking _nice_?”

Lexa felt her lips twitching, the hilarity of the moment suddenly overcoming her. The dizzying series of classes and teachers and new faces, combined with Jake’s enthusiasm and unrelenting kindness, had her snorting with laughter. Anya looked up again at the unexpected noise, her face flashing with irritation and then grudging amusement. “God, it figures. We’re so fucked up when we finally get non-shitty fosters all we can do is crazy-person laugh.”

Lexa finally got her laughter under control. “So you admit he’s not shitty?”

“I admit nothing,” Anya said grimly. “And neither do you.”

“Yeah, yeah…oh, why are you dropping out again?”

“I don’t care if it’s only ten months,” Anya replied darkly. “Ten _days_ is too much to spend with these bougie-ass children.”

“You’re grouping Clarke in with those ‘bougie-ass children,’ you know,” Lexa pointed out.

“Well, she is,” Anya said. “Before you start, no, I don’t hate the chick or anything, but, just factually, that _is_ what she is.”

Lexa glared at her, but just said, “Well, regardless of your opinion of your new peers, An, neither of us are going anywhere. As you know.”

“Unfortunately,” Anya muttered. “What, you’re in love with _Ark_ already?”

“Hardly. My classes before lunch—”

But she had hardly started her self-pitying speech about the horror of her pre-lunch class lineup was she interrupted by the thunk of a backpack being dropped onto the bench next to her. She looked up, annoyed, only for the expression to falter at the sight of Clarke.

The girl winked at her, eyes shining. “Hey, Lex. Jeez, you two were hard to find.” She sat down next to her, laughing when she saw the lunch bag still clutched in Lexa’s hands. “Dad loves his little messages. They’re cute, aren’t they? He’s such a cheeseball.”

Lexa swallowed. Gone was the occasionally hesitant and shy Clarke of the weeks previous, trying to get into her and Anya’s good graces. In her place was a girl in her element, glowing with confidence and happy in a place she clearly knew well and was in control of. It suited her. Realizing abruptly that she was staring, she managed, after a moment, a “Yes.” She immediately resisted the urge to slap a hand to her forehead. Anya, staring at her from across the table, looked as if she very much wanted to do the same.

Clarke just smiled as she unpacked her lunch. “Anyway, how’s the first day going, guys?”

“Oh, you know. Regular first day of class stuff. Lots of syllabus reading.” There, that was somewhat better.

“Ugh, I know what you mean,” Clarke said sympathetically. “Here, let me see your schedule.” Lexa mutely handed it over. Clarke winced as she read it. “Ouch, calc _and_ chem before lunch? Brutal. Hey,” she said, brightening, “You and Bellamy are in the same chem class!”

Lexa stared at her blankly. “Who?”

“Uh, tall guy? Black hair? Serious looking?”

Lexa thought back, but could only remember the teacher’s slightly droning voice and her own increasingly stressed thoughts. “Um, maybe I’ll notice him next time.”

“No worries, you should see him soon.” Clarke was already shifting her attention before Lexa could ask just what exactly that meant. “And Anya? Let me guess, no one will stop talking about college apps?”

Anya stared at her bleakly. “Kill me.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, it kinda sucks. None of my other friends are seniors, unfortunately, otherwise I’d totally get them to commiserate with you.” She shuddered. “Mom’s already plotting with her colleagues over which school I should go to, best rankings and bio program and all that. _God_.” A thought occurred to her. “Hey, where all are you applying?”

A distinctly awkward pause followed her well-meaning question. Just as Lexa was about to speak up on Anya’s behalf, lest her sister bite Clarke’s head off like she had that first night, Anya got in ahead of her, saying stiffly, “I…haven’t gotten that far. Just trying to get legal first.”

Lexa felt her eyebrows climb her forehead. That was the most civil reply she’d heard Anya give anyone, _ever_. Were her repeated entreaties to Anya to be a little nicer finally having some effect? Or maybe, even more miraculously, Clarke’s own dogged efforts were paying off. Normally, either possibility seemed laughable, and yet, here they were.

Clarke, to her credit, took the girl’s words and their implicit meaning with grace. “Yeah, I can understand that. Well, like I said, my mom’s been indoctrinating me since like eighth grade about this stuff, so if you want I can pass along what I’ve learned.”

“We’ll see.” Anya’s tone seemed to suggest that none of them would be seeing, any time soon, but the reply was still better than it might’ve been.

Clarke looked she wanted to say more on the subject (to Lexa’s dismay; she didn’t know how long Anya’s already extraordinary patience on the topic would last), but her name being called caught her attention. As she looked for the source, Lexa looked askance at Anya, still reeling from her sister’s pleasantly surprising attitude. Anya just shrugged. Before she could investigate further, Clarke was turning back to them with a wide smile. “We’ll get back to that later. First – meet everyone!”

Everyone? Lexa did _not_ like the sound of that. Not a minute later, her and Anya’s previously peaceful table, carefully picked to be out of the way in a corner of the cafeteria, was surrounded by a group of people, all laughing and talking loudly to each other and Clarke as they slid onto the benches.

She glanced across the table to see Anya’s increasingly displeased expression, and mentally sighed. Well, the miracle had been nice while it lasted.

When the hoard had finally all been seated, Clarke raised her voice to shush them. “Alright, alright, let me introduce you to Ark’s newest students.” A few of them cheered. “Everyone, this is Lexa, and across from her is her sister, Anya. Lexa’s a junior, Anya, a senior.”

Lexa felt herself stiffen as the collective attention of the group turned to her, but made herself wave a hand in greeting when she saw Clarke’s hopeful, expectant gaze on her. “Hi, everyone.” Anya echoed her greeting.

Clarke beamed. “And this,” she waved a hand at the table, “Is everyone.” She pointed at a shaggy-haired boy across from her, sitting a bit down from Anya, perhaps sensing her forbidding nature. “That’s Bellamy. He’s a junior, too. Huge nerd, is literally taking Latin right now so he can major in the Classics in college.”

The boy – and okay, yeah, Lexa had no recollection of this dude – raised a hand in greeting, apparently unruffled by Clarke’s teasing description. “What’s up.” He squinted at her. “Hey, you’re in my chemistry class!”

Oh, for god’s sake. Was everyone in this damn school this observant? “Uh, ha, yeah.”

Clarke continued on, undeterred. “You already know Wells. Friend since day one and, as the only one of us currently with a car, group driver.” He rolled his eyes before smiling at her and Anya from his place on Clarke’s other side. “Next to Wells is our resident evil genius, Raven. A sophomore like me. Will probably be heading NASA’s engineering team in twenty years.”

A dark haired girl leaned forward; Lexa noted silently that she’d waited to sit at the end of the bench, sliding in a little painfully as she extended her left leg, encased in a metal brace. “Make that ten years, thank you very much.” She waved at them, smiling cheekily. “Hey, guys. Nice to finally meet the famous Woods sisters.”

Lexa raised a brow. Famous? Next to her, Clarke turned a little red, but said nothing. Anya unexpectedly spoke up, mirroring her thoughts. “Famous, huh? Don’t tell me you’ve been spreading rumors, Clarke.”

Clarke raised her hands in surrender. “All good things! These people wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Oh, please, Clarkie,” the girl, Raven, retorted slyly. “I think we both know how true the opposite is. Like how—”

“Anyway,” Clarke said hastily, cutting her off (Lexa filing it all away for further consideration), “Last but not least, we have Octavia, Bellamy’s little sister. Also known as our baby freshman, so she’s new like you guys!”

The brunette, sitting next to her brother, shyly waved. Lexa felt a burst of sympathy; the first day freshman year was never easy. At least she’d already _been_ to a high school. Clarke continued. “Octavia’s gonna try out for the JV soccer team, right, O?”

Octavia nodded, brightening. “I’ve been training all summer. Ark’s team is frickin’ awesome.”

“By training, she means kicking a soccer ball against my window for hours,” Bellamy said wryly. “ _Very_ technical.”

Octavia reddened. “Bellamy!”

The group laughed, and Lexa felt herself relax a bit, smiling in spite of herself and even as a spark of interest settled in her mind. Soccer, huh? She’d seen the fields that morning as they’d parked, but hadn’t given it another thought. A new life, a new school…maybe it was something to consider. Maybe.

School had started, leaving the difficult and uncertain days of summer behind. Lexa knew it was only ten months, and then they’d be gone, but it wouldn’t be so bad to try to…live a little while they were here, right? She took in the laughs and smiles of the group around her, even Anya smirking as Bellamy and Octavia traded barbs; besides her, Clarke caught her eye and smiled. “See, Ark isn’t so bad. Right?”

She let herself return the smile. “Maybe.”

“This is gonna be a great year,” the blonde continued, her words soft and sincere. “I’m so happy you’re here for it, Lexa.”

Lexa said nothing, but for the first time in a long time, despite the stress of classes and her situation and what the future held, let herself hope.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm long out of high school, but channeling the tension and anticipation of the first day of school was surprisingly easy. I guess we never fully forget those feelings! I certainly do not envy Anya and Lexa though. Like, at all.
> 
> Thanks as ever for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, again, y'all. My PC parts finally arrived and I've spent most of my free time the last week and a half elbow-deep in a computer case. (Okay, wow, that managed to make the process sound a lot dirtier than what was really just me cursing at a variety of inanimate objects as I wired them together.)
> 
> In any case, finally found the time to get this out -- enjoy!

Anya knew she shouldn’t be cutting class – school had barely begun – but she was already bored out of her mind in that debate class she’d never asked to be put in; “elective,” her ass. By the second week of school, the thought of sitting through another hour of nerds yelling at each other or speed reading through endless reams of paper made her want to punch something. And, as that was perfectly within the realm of possibility, she thought she’d better skip out. Explore the school it was.

And there was a _lot_ of school to explore. Arkadia seemed endless, a huge assortment of classrooms and labs and gymnasiums and auditoriums, all shining and spotless and filled with bright-eyed students. It set her teeth on edge. But it was still better than sitting in debate.

It hadn’t been all bad, she (grudgingly) supposed. The first week of school had gone by surprisingly fast, and her classes – debate aside – were…tolerable, even if the endless talk about college was irritating. The elder Griffins seemed to be giving them space as they adjusted to the school, for which Anya, at least, was grateful, though she could tell that they were practically vibrating with the effort it took to not pepper the girls with questions; it probably didn’t help that the sisters had spent most of the weekend sleeping in as they tried to adjust to their much earlier sleeping schedules. She suspected that she and Lexa would have to throw them a bone, and sooner rather than later. The idea didn’t annoy her as much as it might’ve, surprisingly, a fact that she didn’t bother to think too deeply on.

Clarke and her friends, meanwhile, found her and Lexa without fail every day at lunch and, even if she found their conversation inane, she supposed their presence wasn’t entirely repugnant. Clarke, true to form, remained determinedly cheerful with them, though Anya thought that she’d let her guard down a bit and had even started letting a little sarcasm color her words, a development that Anya, personally, found vastly preferable to the almost saccharine sweetness Clarke had been keeping up. Not that, she mused with dark amusement, Lexa would agree with her. Her sister could be guaranteed to stare at Clarke with hearts in her eyes throughout the lunch period, no matter _how_ the girl was acting – and if Anya didn’t know better, she’d say that Clarke was starting to look back.

None of her business, though. She had far better things to do than moon over their housemate. (She’d referred to Clarke as their “foster sister” a few times just to get under Lexa’s skin, the reaction never failing to be vastly amusing: Lexa turning bright red and whisper-yelling at her about why that was _not_ the case or, sometimes, just skipping words altogether and jumping straight to tackling her. Good times.)

But, still. Lunch was tolerable, and, at times, even somewhat amusing. That girl with the dark hair and braced leg, for instance – Raven – cracked consistent wisecracks, a bit more cutting than those of her peers, causing even Anya, from time to time, to find herself smirking. It was nice to know that not every one of Griffin’s friends, and the students of Ark in general, were as spotless and cookie-cutter as the school itself, that was all.

She’d been wandering the locker-lined halls aimlessly as she mused, luckily not running into anyone who cared enough to ask why she was out of class. On a whim, she slipped through a set of double doors that she hadn’t been through before and, she was pretty sure, led to a wing of Ark she’d yet to see. These people clearly had more money than knew what to do with, and presumably had just kept adding wings to the school, never mind that the student body was roughly a fraction of her last few high schools. Well, whatever. More for her to tour, Anya supposed. The doors opened onto an outdoor breezeway, smaller buildings lining each side of the covered path. The heat of the day hit her immediately, and she almost baulked before deciding it was preferable to the icy, artificial coolness of her classroom.

It was a few minutes into her exploration, wandering lazily down the path, that she heard the noise. A…mechanical noise of some sort, harsh and grating, emanating from one of the buildings to her right. Anya paused, eyeing the door to the squat building. There were no windows to look through, and she wavered uncertainly until the noise sounded again. Succumbing to her curiosity, she approached the door, and saw that it was ajar; no wonder she’d heard…whatever that noise was…as clearly as she had. She cautiously looked through the crack, to see a wide, open classroom, except…not. It was far too dirty to be a classroom, for one thing, with streaks of what looked like grease on the industrial concrete floor, and dingy workbenches and tables scattered across the room. Pegboards hung from several of the walls, a huge variety of tools affixed to them; above one, a large sign read, tersely, that “STUDENTS MUST RETURN ALL TOOLS BEFORE END OF SHOP.” A workshop. It was a workshop. Anya knew what shop class was, of course, but had never actually been in one, never having any interest in the subject. She didn’t even know what had drawn her this time, really. She was about to slip back out, undetected, when that damn noise sounded _again_ , this time making her wince as its sheer screeching quality and drawing her eyes to the far corner of the room, where a group of students huddled around some sort of equipment, all looking both deadly serious and slightly comical in their safety glasses and protective earmuffs. They were watching intently as a boy attempted to operate…whatever the machine in front of them was – a saw of some sort, perhaps – and not doing a very good job of it, if their expressions were any indication.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Monty,” a feminine voice suddenly said. “You’re gonna slice off a damn finger at this rate.”

Anya’s eyes narrowed. She knew that voice, had heard it just yesterday cracking jokes at lunch… The boy, Monty, looked down in apparent dismay, and that same voice let out a sigh. “Here. I’ll show you.”

The crowd parted, and, sure enough, Raven appeared, pushing herself out of the chair she’d been sitting in, hiding herself from view. Anya watched as she took over operation of what was, apparently, a circular saw, and explained the process to the other students, who listened raptly, looking at Raven as if she was the second coming of the Industrial Messiah.

“…and _that_ is how you use a circular saw to cut through sheet metal, _without_ losing any extremities in the process,” Raven finished. The crowd of clearly adoring students around her broke into approving murmurs, and she cracked a satisfied smirk, stepping back and pushing up her safety glasses to rub at her eyes. As she did, she looked up – and made direct eye contact with Anya. Raven’s eyes widened in surprise as Anya stiffened, barely keeping herself from taking a step back or disappearing through the exit altogether.

Before she could make a move either way, Raven was pulling away from her fans, the students quickly turning back to the saw table to debate its merits, and moved to approach Anya, smiling even as her eyebrows raised. “Yo, Woods! What brings you to our neck of the woods,” she made a show of inspecting the wall clock before looking back to Anya, “during the middle of third period?”

“Eh, you know,” Anya replied with forced casualness, “Debate class was getting a little dry.”

Raven’s smile widened. “So what, you just decided to stroll on down to shop instead?” Another thought struck her, and she added, looking incredulous, “And wait, you’re in _debate_?”

“That surprise you?”

Raven just looked at her. “Well, considering you’ve said a grand total of perhaps thirty words in the past two weeks, yeah, a little.”

“I’ve said more than that,” Anya began defensively, then stopped short, annoyed, as she wondered just _why_ exactly she was feeling defensive.

“Uh huh,” Raven said, a smile still playing at the corners of her lips. “Well, anyway. And you’re here because…?”

“I, uh, heard the saw from outside and decided to, er, see what it was,” Anya replied, feeling more foolish with every word. “And, well, I know now, so I’ll just—”

She made to take a step back towards the door, but Raven held out a placating hand. “Hey, hey, no worries. You can, um, stay if you want.” She shrugged. “There’s only ten minutes left in class anyway.”

“Uh…okay,” Anya said slowly. “Your teacher won’t care?” She looked around. “Where _is_ your teacher, anyway?”

“Eh, who knows,” Raven said carelessly. “The dude’s MIA half the time. It’s whatever.”

“Okay…” They stood awkward for a beat. “So…you’re in shop, huh?”

“That surprise you?” Raven raised a brow as she threw Anya’s words back at her.

“What- no, no, it’s cool.” To her consternation, Anya felt herself growing a bit flustered. “I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Dude, Anya, chill,” Raven finally cut in, laughing. “It’s fine. And anyway, yes, I am in shop. Soldering metal can be very cathartic.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Anya said, relaxing, then added as she remembered, “Oh, I guess Clarke said you wanted to work for NASA or something?”

“Or something,” Raven said. “SpaceX or Tesla or, yeah, maybe NASA, who knows. Half of mechanical engineering is actually knowing how to work with the materials, so here I am.”

Anya couldn’t hold back a chuckle; there was something refreshing about the other girl’s assured confidence in her future and her abilities. “And the other half is…?”

“Well, the math part, of course. Which is fun, too, but sometimes a girl’s just gotta work with her hands, ya know?” Almost as soon as the words had left her mouth was Raven wincing, looking very much as if she wished she could take them back. 

Anya just smirked. “Work with your hands, huh?”

“Oh, shut up, Woods,” Raven said, reddening.

Anya held up her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, just confirming your words.”

“Yeah, yeah…” There was another pause between them, but a little less awkward than the first. Raven broke it by asking, her voice thoughtful, “So, if you hate debate, why are you in it?”

Anya shrugged. “Wasn’t really given a choice. It was on my schedule when I showed up.”

“Huh. Well, you can always switch out if you want, you know,” Raven said. “There has to be _something_ you’d rather be in.”

“Maybe,” Anya replied noncommittally.

Raven looked at her, thoughtful once more, but didn’t press further. Before Anya could find anything else to say, the sharp din of the bell ringing caused them both to jump a little and effectively cut their conversation short. “Well, that’s my cue,” Raven said. “And, you know, yours too, probably. If you’re trying to go to fourth period.”

“If I must,” Anya said, sighing deeply.

“Probably a good idea,” Raven said wryly. “But thanks for the visit, I guess.”

“Uh…anytime,” Anya said, blinking.

Raven just smirked at her before turning and heading to collect her things, limping a little as she did. Anya, supposing that was the end of it, turned and slipped through the exit. She had a sob story to give the debate teacher. As she headed back to the class she was _supposed_ to have been in, she found her thoughts returning to that shop class. Cutting vast sheets of metal into tiny pieces with a massive saw did sound rather cathartic, now that she thought about it, and if there was someone there who didn’t back down from her wisecracks, instead giving as good as she got, well, that was just a bonus, wasn’t it?

 

**

Lexa let out a sigh, putting her pencil down to rub at her eyes and resisting the urge to lay her head down on the table before her. She’d been staring at the chemistry textbook before her for so long her vision was starting to blur.

“Boring chapter?”

She felt herself smile. “I don’t think any part of chemistry can really be called fun, Clarke,” she said as she turned to regard the girl sitting next to her.

The dining table chairs they were sitting in weren’t particularly comfortable, but that was probably for the best, and anyway, the vast dining table they sat at served as an excellent space for laying out the zillion printed out PowerPoints the girls had between them. Lexa had quickly learned that Clarke preferred to study downstairs in the dining room, partially because she zoned off so easily in her bedroom and partially (okay, mostly) because her actual desk was too hopelessly buried in assorted odds and ends to actually accommodate any work. 

Lexa’s own desk was, of course, spotless, but she’d found herself unable to refuse when Clarke had invited her to study with her the first time, her awkward refusal dying on her lips as Clarke had all but pouted at her. (Clarke had invited Anya too, of course, but her sister had just rolled her eyes as she continued her way up the stairs.) She’d relaxed a bit when Wells had joined them the second time, and eventually their studying together became a common occurrence. It quickly became clear that Clarke needed someone to make her focus, a practice that Lexa would normally have excelled at, but as it was she was needing the entirety of her attention just to stay focused on her studies and not the girl next to her. Clarke had a maddening tendency of looking particularly attractive when she studied, or, more precisely, daydreamed over her textbooks, her eyes soft and distant as she doodled in the corners of her notes. Lexa almost felt sorry whenever she brought the blonde back down to earth, the dreaminess in Clarke’s eyes dissipating as she turned back to her books.

“…to Lexa, repeat, earth to Lexa, come in, space cadet Woods.” The tail end of Clarke’s message hit her, and she blinked a few times to see Clarke watching her with a bemused grin. “Looks like I’m not the only one daydreaming, huh, Lex?”

Lexa reddened, as she did every time Clarke called her that, but just said, “I don’t think I’ve come anywhere near to breaking your record, Clarke.”

Clarke let out a mock gasp. “Low blow, Woods, low blow. We can’t all be as disciplined as you, you know.” She shook her head admiringly. “I don’t know how you do it, it’s like you’re a military commander or something.”

Lexa let out a laugh at that. “A commander? That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” Clarke leaned back in her seat, letting her pen fall from her fingers as she stretched. “God, we’ve been at this for _hours_. Let’s take a break.”

“It’s 4:30, Clarke. It’s barely been an hour.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Well, it _feels_ like hours. Hold on.” She was out of her seat and disappearing into the kitchen before Lexa could react, and rustling and clinking noises emanated from the room before Clarke reappeared, this time juggling two glasses of milk and a pack of Oreos under her arm.

“Milk and cookies? Really?”

“Hey, don’t knock Oreos,” Clarke said indignantly as she placed a glass in front of Lexa, “This is a time honored snack. And also, whatever you do, _don’t_ tell my dad about this; the man’s a human vacuum. This is my secret store.”

Lexa made a show of zipping her lips shut. “My lips are sealed.”

“Excellent.” Clarke broke the seal on the Oreos pack, taking out a few. “You can unseal ‘em for these, though.”

Lexa accepted the cookies, enjoying them despite herself as she amusedly watched Clarke carefully separate each cookie, eating the filling first before dipping each chocolate disk into her glass of milk. “I had no idea eating Oreos was such a production.”

Clarke looked up from her latest disassembly. “What, you don’t take your Oreos apart? This is the only right way to eat them, I’ve been doing it this way since I was a kid!”

Lexa shrugged. “If you say so,” she said lightly. “I didn’t really have a chance to eat that many of them growing up.”

Clarke paused, her hands stilling, and Lexa cursed herself for needlessly dipping into her melodramatic past; the last thing she wanted was to endlessly remind Clarke of her Oliver Twist-ian childhood, and it wasn’t like she wanted the girl to feel sorry for her or—

Clarke interrupted Lexa’s increasingly stressed train of thought, reaching into the Oreo pack and grabbing a massive stack of them and placing them gently in front of Lexa. “Well, you’ll just have to make up for lost time,” she said simply.

Lexa stared at the pile of Oreos before her, before looking at Clarke; the girl just smiled at her before grabbing another cookie for herself and fidgeting with it a little uncertainly. “Thank you, Clarke,” she finally said, her voice soft.

They made their way through an impressive half of the pack, munching away in amiable silence, Lexa at one point trying out Clarke’s method of Oreo consumption – though it wasn’t quite to her taste, the other girl’s obvious delight made her stick to it for the rest of her share. (Sigh. She was abruptly grateful that Anya was ensconced safely upstairs; she really _was_ hopeless.)

“So,” Clarke said finally, draining her glass of milk, “Have you given any more thought to soccer? Octavia said she hasn’t see you at any of the trainings.”

“Um…” Lexa said inelegantly, trying to buy some time. “Yeah. I guess. Maybe.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Which means…?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa admitted, deflating. “It could be cool, I guess…but I don’t want to inconvenience any of you, and I’ve never played before—“

“Woah, woah,” Clarke cut in. “You playing would not be an inconvenience in any way, Lex. Like, completely the opposite. My dad would probably start crying tears of joy. God knows _I’ve_ been a major disappointment in the sports department.” She rolled her eyes. “And as for the whole not playing thing, well, that’s fixed easily enough. I’m sure O would be down to play with you, and my dad would probably die for the chance. They’ll have you ready for tryouts in no time. And anyway, you’re very, er, athletic…looking…so you should be fine.”

It was Lexa’s turn to raise a brow. “Athletic looking, huh?”

“Oh, just that you’re clearly very, uh, physically active and, um, fit – oh, shut up,” Clarke said, cutting her stammering short when Lexa began laughing. “I hope you trip over a soccer ball.”

“You don’t mean that,” Lexa said, aware that her voice had becoming slightly teasing.

“Don’t push me, Woods,” Clarke replied, trying and failing to sound ominous. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Right…”

“So – you’ll think about it?”

Lexa looked at her uncertainly, before sighing and nodding. “Yeah. I will.”

Clarke beamed. “Good.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Clarke abruptly cleared her throat. “Right. Well. Let’s get back to it, I guess.”

Lexa nodded hastily. “Yes, of course.”

They turned back to their respective textbooks, but before Lexa threw herself back into the world of chemistry, she allowed herself a brief smile as she brushed away the Oreo crumbs dotting the page.

 

**

A few days passed in a similar manner, the school days quickly forming a pattern, until it was Friday night all over again, another week magically come to a close. Just like that, the Woods sisters had survived two weeks at Arkadia. Clarke had dragged Anya and Lexa out to dinner with her and the rest of the Ark crew, and they had, despite themselves, had a good time, everyone gorging themselves on burritos until they were all moaning in regret – not that regret prevented them from splitting sundaes afterwards. Once they’d returned to the house, they’d been cornered by Jake and Abby, who apparently could wait no longer to hear how their wards were adjusting to their new school. Lexa had been expecting this eventually, of course, and, with Anya, gamely answered their questions and assuaged their concerns until the Griffins’ worry had finally abated. Lexa found that she didn’t actually mind; it was sweet, and, frankly, a novel experience – there had been few people in their lives who had cared enough to ask not just how their grades were, but if they were actually comfortable at their school.  

Soon after, the elder Griffins retired for the night, and Anya disappeared upstairs, no doubt to mess around on her newly acquired laptop. Lexa, though meaning to follow, found herself dawdling downstairs, perhaps because Clarke had collapsed on a sofa in the den and was making no move to get up.

Clarke, after a few moments of staring at her phone, looked up to see Lexa hovering uncertainly. Rolling her eyes, she pulled up her legs and waved impatiently. “You can sit down, weirdo.”

Lexa flushed and hastily made to do so. Clarke looked back down at her phone as she did, and Lexa found herself staring at the chess board set on the coffee table before them, suddenly thinking back to memories she purposefully hadn’t pulled up in ages.

“Do you play?”

Lexa looked up sharply to see Clarke watching her, eyes curious. Forcing herself to relax, she said, “Not for years.”

“But you do know how?” Clarke pressed.

She shrugged. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Cool,” Clarke said. “Wanna play a game? I play with my dad every now and then.”

Lexa knew she did. She’d seen her and Jake play on quiet evenings in the summer, ribbing each other as they pondered their moves, Jake never hesitating to give her a gentle tip whenever he saw her struggling. Lexa had never hovered for too long, though. The scene inevitably made her heart clench, and she made her escape more often than not.

“Um, I was thinking of going to sleep soon…”

“Oh, come on, Lexa,” Clarke wheedled. “Just one game.”

She then proceeded to pull out that damn pout, _again_ , and Lexa felt herself give in. Again. “Alright, alright.”

Clarke grinned, and they quickly balanced the board on the sofa between them. Clarke graciously let Lexa take white, as it was her first time playing at the Griffins,’ and they were soon deep into the game. Lexa quickly realized that she was a tad rusty, but Clarke didn’t appear to be an overly advanced player herself, and thus, they weren’t too unevenly matched.  

Partway through the game, after Clarke had captured a few of her pawns and she, in turn, a knight, Clarke spoke up unexpectedly. “So, where did you learn to play?”

Lexa hesitated for a few long moments before answering. “From a foster parent, many years ago.”

Clarke, seeming to pick up on Lexa’s reluctance on the subject, didn’t press further. “Oh, that’s cool.”

But after a moment, Lexa decided to elaborate. She wanted to tell Clarke, she found. She found herself abruptly tired of sitting on all these sorry stories, and if Clarke was interested, and willing to listen… “Her name was- is- Indra. Anya and I lived with her for two years, not too soon after we entered the system.” She found herself smiling a bit, though felt it tinged with sadness. “It wasn’t a bad home. Indra wasn’t the warmest foster parent, but to be fair, that wasn’t really her nature in general. But what she lacked in warmth she made up for in her protection, and her presence.”

Clarke smiled back, a little cautiously. “That sounds nice. I’m sure that was comforting to have.”

“It was,” Lexa agreed. “She was good to us. Anya liked her, too. She provided for us and the other children in her care, and she tried to be a part of our lives…not too many foster parents can say that. She’s the one who taught us to play. She said that I thought too much, and needed somewhere to focus all that thinking, and that Anya felt too much, and needed something to make her calm down.” She laughed. “She was probably right on both counts.”

She looked up from her inspection of the board to see Clarke watching her. She’d already steeled herself against any pity, but that wasn’t the emotion swirling in the other girl’s eyes at all. There was empathy, and sadness, and other things she couldn’t put a name to. She made herself look away, shaking her head. “Anyway. It was a long time ago.”

Clarke nodded, then, her voice hesitant, asked, “Why did you leave her? It sounds like it was a good arrangement, on both sides.”

Lexa sighed, the noise perhaps a bit more watery than usual. “Anya got in a fight at the school we were at. Kids can be cruel; some of them were saying things about our parents. It was bad. She was suspended, and the state intervened. Decided that the home we were in wasn’t conducive to Anya ‘behaving,’ and we got transferred out. Indra tried to fight it, but there wasn’t much she could do. The irony,” she let out a laugh, aware it was tinged with more than a little bitterness, “was that Anya was doing better living with Indra than she had at any home before, or any since.”

Clarke leaned forward suddenly, and took her hand; Lexa tried hard not to react at the feel of the girl’s soft palm against her own. “Lexa…that’s…I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. That’s _wrong_.”

Lexa shrugged, mentally cursing as she felt her eyes burn. “Like I said. It was a long time ago.”

Clarke’s grip on her hand tightened. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, Lexa, or make it right. God, you guys were so young…”

Lexa forced herself to smile, the moment becoming too much to deal with at that moment. “Well, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it, because we ended up here, right?”

Clarke searched her eyes, before surprising her by suddenly leaning forward over the board, disrupting some pieces as she did, and wrapping Lexa in a hug. Lexa froze instinctively before, after a shocked moment, letting herself hesitantly return the embrace, making sure to put her hands safely high on Clarke’s back. At the returned touch, Clarke tightened the hug, and Lexa struggled against the sudden, insane urge to bury her face in the other girl’s neck. They stayed that way for a moment, before Clarke withdrew, her eyes both hard and determined and impossibly soft. “For what it’s worth, I’m so glad you two did come here,” she said. “Because this house will always be open to you.”

Lexa felt a lump rise in her throat at the girl’s obvious sincerity, and just nodded, overcome with too many feelings and the intensity of the moment. Clarke sensed her mental furor, perhaps, and let it go. Fixing the few pieces she’d toppled, she cleared her throat and said, “Well. I think it was your turn?”

Lexa nodded and returned her attention to the board, not daring to look up as she felt Clarke’s gaze burning into her.

They played until neither could find a move to make, and Clarke realized that, with her king remaining against Lexa’s king and knight, it was impossible for either of them to checkmate. Evenly matched and equally skilled, they’d played themselves to a draw.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always appreciate your thoughts! Thanks for reading.


	9. Chapter 9

The Saturday after the sisters’ second week at Arkadia was spent lazily; all three girls came down long after morning had passed, and Abby - who had awoken earlier than usual following her night shift - treated them to pancakes, of which Lexa ate two and Anya and Clarke, having entered into an ill-advised competition, ate four apiece, prompting eye-rolls from both Abby and Lexa and almost immediate regret from the stomachache-stricken duo.

After they - well, Clarke and Anya; Lexa had been perfectly fine, thank you very much, and rather primly picked up where she’d left off in _The Name of the Wind_ while the other two laid motionless on the two sofas in the den - had revived from their food coma, Clarke challenged Lexa to another chess game, and following a few rounds - in which, to her vast irritation, Lexa beat her two times to one - had even coerced Anya into playing her after spying the older girl watching them as she pretended to mess around on her phone.

Anya had proved to be an unexpectedly adept player, outfoxing her with one surprising move after the next until Clarke had been forced to concede defeat. (The older girl’s smug smirk had not made the concession particularly gracious.). Sensing her irritated surprise, Lexa had amusedly informed Clarke that if she was, as Clarke had called her, a “commander,” Anya was undoubtedly her best general.

From there, they’d all more or less drifted off to their own devices, Lexa picking her book back up, Clarke chatting with Wells, and Anya, growing bored of her phone as she drifted into the kitchen, made another unexpected move, allowing herself to be swept into conversation with Abby, who, sensing the girl’s interest, reached into her apparently endless grab bag of medical horror stories and was soon regaling Anya with one gruesome story after another.

And so the day slipped by, turning to night, and very soon after that the group was finishing up dinner. Clarke and Anya had already headed upstairs, Lexa preparing to follow suit, when a voice unexpectedly called her back.

She turned to see Jake standing in the hall. At her attention, the conflicted expression on his face turned to resolve, and he smiled encouragingly. “Do you have a minute?”

Swallowing her immediate, instinctive unease, she nodded and followed him back into the kitchen.

“Is everything okay? Did we do something?” The questions came out before she could stop them, the product of too many years of uncertainty and one short stay at a foster home to the next; as soon as they left her mouth she was wishing she could pull them right back in.

Jake looked taken aback. “I- what? No, of course not. You two have been an absolute pleasure.” He looked fiercely at her, as if trying to convince her of the conviction of his words through the sheer force of his stare. “We couldn’t be happier to have you both here with us.”

A slightly awkward silence settled on them following her unexpected questions and his even more unexpected reply. It was only after she’d gotten a hold of herself and put her traitorous riotous emotions into check that she let herself speak, saying carefully, “I see. That’s kind of you to say.” After a moment she made herself add, “We’ve been enjoying our stay here as well, Mr. Griffin.”

Jake seemed ridiculously pleased by her words, no matter how understated the encouragement had been, and grinned at her boyishly, his resemblance to Clarke coming through clearly in that moment. Lexa smiled back, a little uncomfortably. “So...um...what did you want to talk about?” _Before I jumped to conclusions and made everything ridiculously awkward?_

His smile disappeared. “Oh! Right. Well…” He rubbed the back of his head, unsure. “Abby and I were talking, and we realized that we’ve kinda dropped the ball on getting you two your things back. I’m sorry about that, Lexa.”

She stared at him, lost. “Our things?”

“You know...your personal belongings? All of the stuff still at your, er, previous foster home?”

“Oh. _Oh_.” She suddenly understood his hesitance. He had no way of knowing how she’d react at the mention of their previous, less than ideal living situation, or the reminder of the asshole who had made a mockery of foster parenting while they’d been there. “I see.”

“Yes. I…” He let out a breath. “I hope you don’t think we were trying to keep your things from you. It’s just been so crazy with you two here, we wanted you to have time to adjust…”

He looked so sincerely regretful that Lexa had to repress the sudden, totally inappropriate urge to smile. Only a Griffin, it seemed, would work himself into such a state over what was, at least to Lexa, not an overly pressing matter. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Griffin. Really. There wasn’t much there that Anya and I are eager to reclaim.”

He looked at her dubiously. “You’re sure? You moved into that house in a much more conventional manner then you did this one, Lexa. Surely you brought your belongings with you.”

“Well, yes, but...not much of it was anything we exactly need, or even want, really. Just old clothes and stuff.” She laughed awkwardly. “Dr. Griffin has more than replaced everything we needed.”

He didn’t back down. “Okay, that’s fair. But that’s just clothes. I’m talking about _your_ things. Mementos, personal items?”

She couldn’t hide her slight flinch at the mention of mementos. Seeing it, he softened and plowed on. “So there is. Whatever it is, Lexa, I’m more than happy to go back there and recover it.”

“What— no!” She couldn’t help the outburst – was he out of his _mind_? “Mr. Griffin, you can’t— there’s no need, at all, for you go to that— that _place_.”

He eyed her, before saying carefully, “Lexa, if something is important to you, you should have it. I know your last guardian made a mockery of the term, but he doesn’t scare me. Tell me what you want, and I’ll go get it.”

“Mr. Griffin—” She stopped short, frustrated beyond words at these Griffins and their stubborn determination to do the right thing. Well, fine. Two could play that game. “If you go, I’m coming with you.”

It was his turn to be surprised. “What? Lexa, there’s no way I can ask you to that. You have no need to go back there.”

“If you want to get my things, then you have to take me,” she replied. He may be stubborn, but she doubted _his_ seventh grade teacher had ever called him the “most bull-headed person” they’d ever met in their life. “And besides, I want to go.” And it was true, she found. The more she thought about it, she _did_ want to go. That bastard Frank had gotten in the last word the last time they’d seen each other, and though Jake Griffin may have been a big guy, she had doubts about his propensity for violence. She had none for hers.

He sighed. “Lexa, you can’t expect me to go along with this…”

She folded her arms. “If you want to know what to even take from his house, you need me to come.”

For a few seconds they squinted at each other, seeing who would break first, until Jake shook his head, deflating. “Alright, fine. You can come. But you are _not_ leaving the car. Is that clear?”

She smiled brightly. “Crystal.”

He peered at her, looking as if he doubted that very much, but said nothing more on the subject, and after telling her they’d head out in the morning, bade her good night. She headed up to her room, mind abuzz with the unexpected developments, and after trying and failing to wake Anya and tell her the news (her sister had, always to the point, told her to “fuck off and let me sleep” in a tone that only Anya could fill with that much menace even while still mostly asleep) went to bed herself.

But she didn’t fall asleep for a long time, the mix of unease and anticipation keeping her up long into the night.

 

**

The drive to her old foster home the next morning was undertaken mostly in silence, and with one less passenger then Lexa had expected.

She’d risen fully planning to clue Anya in and recruit her for their return – only to find that her sister was missing from her bed. Considering it was barely 9AM, she’d been surprised to the point of concern; Clarke’s door was still firmly shut, after all.

She’d ventured downstairs, to find both Anya and Abby missing, the doctor’s Audi gone from the driveway, and found Jake sitting at the counter, reading one of his anachronistic newspapers as a cup of coffee steamed before him. He’d greeted her cheerfully, before informing her that – she’d almost had to ask him to repeat himself – Abby had taken Anya for what was, in the doctor’s words, an “insanely overdue” dentist’s appointment, rousing the girl and getting her out of the house before she’d woken up enough to fully comprehend her fate; from his tone it seemed that this had been part of Abby’s plan all along to ensure Anya’s complacency. It was clear that she’d never had a chance. Worse yet, it seemed that Lexa was next.

Lexa, after digesting this alarming development, had silently consigned her sister’s soul to heaven – neither of them had been to the dentist in years, and she wasn’t sure how Abby would handle the news when it became obvious. She also, she admitted, felt more than a little amusement at Anya’s predicament – Abby was no pushover, and would probably be unimpressed by her sister’s intimidation tactics; she had a suspicion that Anya would not be happy camper upon her return (she made a mental note to warn Clarke to give her a wide berth).

But the upshot had been, she mused as they stopped at a red light, that she would be undertaking this mission solo. Or, she amended as she glanced at Jake, not solo but without backup, should the need arise. Which, who knows, she may not need at all. She thought back to that shiner Frank had given her, and the bruised ribs, to boot, and felt a grim smirk cross her face. Either way, it was going to be an interesting encounter.

 

**

Lexa found herself looking at Jake with more nerves then she’d expected as they pulled up to the house, wondering as she did why his opinion mattered to her.

Jake for his part, took in the small, squat building in front of them, eyes skating over the cracked driveway, the peeling paint, and overgrown lawn in silence.

“Well…this is it,” she said when she could handle the silence no longer.

He looked at the house for a moment longer before looking back at her and smiling. “So it is. Now, how about you tell me what I’m looking for, huh?”

 

She watched as he made his way up the small path to the front door, knowing already that the doorbell was broken and he’d have to knock. Frank’s truck was in the drive, but there was no telling what state the man would be in, or if he’d even be conscious enough to answer the door after one of his inevitable Saturday night benders. She felt a flash of fury in her chest at the thought, wondering for the umpteenth time how such a useless asshole had managed to get on the foster registry in the first place.

Sure enough, Jake knocked once, twice, and stood there on the stoop for some time, waiting for any sign of life within the house. Just as he was raising his fist to knock a third time, Lexa saw the shutters jerk, and a flash of an unshaven face peer through before the shutters fell back into place. Jake noticed the movement, too, and stood back just in time for the door to open a crack. From her vantage point in the car, Lexa realized to her frustration that she couldn’t see the face she’d fantasized about pummeling more times than she’d care to admit, Jake obstructing him from view. The fury that had rooted in her chest flared again, and she swallowed harshly.

After some moments of apparent conversation, the door opened wider, whatever Jake had said seemingly enough, and he disappeared inside. Lexa slid down the passenger seat just as Frank sent a hard stare at the BMW, and didn’t dare move back up until she heard the door to the house slam shut. Once she regained her seat, she found herself staring at the door, trying to keep a lid on the quickly growing mix of anger and stress buzzing through her as she moved her jaw back and forth unconsciously.

The minutes ticked by, and soon five became ten. Lexa’s anxiety grew. There was no telling where her and Anya’s things were in that rat warren their former foster parent called a house, assuming that he hadn’t thrown it all out; Jake could easily still be looking. But her unease only grew. She didn’t like him being in there, didn’t like her current life colliding into her past, not when she’d just begun to think she may have a chance.

Ten minutes turned into fifteen, and she could wait no longer. Screw waiting in the car – she would put nothing past that bastard Frank, and if he was dumb enough to try something she wasn’t going to let it happen while she cooled her heels.

She moved up to the front door in a flash, and cracked it open and silently slipped inside– having listened for any signs of life in the front room and found none – before anyone was the wiser.

Lexa grimaced at the all too familiar grime that welcomed her: the sour smell of old beer and unwashed bodies, with the odor of cigarette smoke lingering above it all, the dark bottles and cans on the table and no doubt overflowing in the kitchen. The curtains were drawn tight, the only illumination coming from the TV flickering in the corner. She stared at the scene with hard eyes, trying to swallow down her revulsion; it was bizarre to think that she and her sister had ever lived here. If “living” was even the right term for their stay here. She’d been aware of the less than ideal conditions even then, but now, after almost a month of living at the Griffins,’ in a neighborhood and world apart, everything seemed ten times worse. A bizarre mix of shame and fury swept over her: shame, that Jake was seeing this, and fury, at herself, for letting herself feel something as weak as shame; at Frank, for being a neglectful dick; and the system, for enabling this situation in the first place.

Becoming aware that she was breathing hard through her nose, her hands curling into tight fists, she made herself close her eyes for a long moment. When she felt she had control over her emotions once more, she let herself move deeper into house, down the hall to the small room she and Anya had stayed in.

She was about to turn the corner that would lead to the room when a voice suddenly reached her ears that had her stopping short.

“…don’t know what those girls told you but they’re both damned liars, ain’t worth a damn—”

Her jaw clenched. Frank. And, if his hoarse, slurred voice was any indication, he was drunk. As usual.

“—they’re damned ungrateful, I put a roof over their heads, food on the table, and this is how they repay me? Those thankless bitches—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Lexa started. That was Jake. But his voice was unlike how she’d ever heard it, soft and menacing. “You’re a disgrace. But I’m not going to waste a minute more listening to your drivel. Get out of my way.”

Frank, in his drunken bullheadedness, chose to get mad instead. “You don’t- you don’t order me around in my house.” His voice shifted to contain a leer. “Don’t think I don’t know why you took in those girls. They may be more trouble than they’re worth, but they sure are nice to look at—”

His voice suddenly cut off, the sound of a box hitting the floor coinciding with the impact of something thudding into the wall. Lexa, who had been moving to turn the corner, fully prepared to break his kneecaps and go from there, froze again.

“Never. Talk. That way. About them. Again.” Jake’s voice, only slightly louder now to be heard over the choked noises Frank was emitting. “You’re a waste of space. Those girls are better than you ever were, or will ever be. Do you understand me?”

Another choked noise was his only answer. Lexa chanced a glance around the corner, to see Frank pushed against the wall, Jake’s taller and broader form looming over him, an alien look of fury on his face as he pressed a forearm to Frank’s throat. Huh, thought Lexa distantly, somewhere below her utter shock at the scene. So _that’s_ where the choking was coming from.

Mindless of the reason for Frank’s silence, Jake leaned closer to the man, all but snarling, “I said, do you _understand_ me?”

Frank just let out another garbled noise, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Lexa, ever practical, snapped out of her shock and decided to intervene, taking a sharp step forward. “Mr. Griffin. He can’t breathe.”

Jake startled at the sound of her voice, stepping away from Frank as if burned; the man slid down the wall, taking a few gasping breaths before starting to cough. Lexa took another cautious step forward. “Are you, um, okay?”

Jake stared at her for a moment as if she was a stranger, before he glanced at the still-coughing man at his feet and back at her, his face softening. “Yes. Of course. Are you?”

The question startled her. She still wasn’t used to being asked that. “I…yes. Yes, I am.”

“Good.” He bent to retrieve the cardboard box he had dropped. “Then let’s go.”

She nodded, let him take the lead out the hall. As soon as he disappeared from view, she walked over to Frank, the man still sprawled on the floor, wheezing.

“Hello, Frank.”

He looked up sharply at the voice, his eyes narrowing as he took her in. “You…you bitch…”

For a moment she considered very seriously breaking one of his arms, or at least punching him in the face. She was fully capable of doing it, she knew. And a part of her very much _wanted_ to do it. But the light fell suddenly onto his throat, highlighting the bright red marks there, and she suddenly relented. Strangely, just knowing that she _could_ do it was enough. For once, someone had done it for her. Had stood up for her. A strange feeling came over her at the thought, and didn’t fade.

“I hear your court date’s coming up, Frank. Enjoy that.”

With that, she turned on her heel and followed Jake out the door, leaving the defeated man and the house, soaked in beer and bad memories, behind.

 

**

The drive home was a tense affair. Lexa couldn’t help but send Jake sidelong glances, seeing how he stared almost unseeingly at the road before them and kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

As the tension mounted, she felt the need to say something, anything, to cut through the pressure. An apology? She did, after all, promise not to leave the car. A comment on what had happened in the hall? She didn’t even know where to begin with _that_. Everything Jake had done or said in the last few weeks had pointed to the man, regardless of his size, being more of a lover than a fighter; he seemed to spend most of his time in family conversations cracking jokes and taking them with grace. Abby and Clarke were clearly at ease around him, and Lexa, after a moment of reflection, realized that she was, too. This…incident notwithstanding, Jake was one of the most easygoing and gentle people she had ever met.

And yet, the more she thought about it, she found that his outburst in the hall – though seemingly out of character – didn’t disturb her overly much. Rather, that feeling that had come over her in the hall as she’d looked down at Frank, that realization that someone had stepped up to defend her and Anya in the most overt, literal sense of the word, came on even stronger. Lexa, for better or for worse, had grown up learning very quickly that sometimes, one’s fists were the only way to end a situation. She may have lacked Anya’s temper, and had a better grip on her emotions, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t, on occasion, see the appeal, and even the necessity. And so, even if it was of dubious morality, Lexa found that seeing it acted out here, especially from a man who typically wouldn’t hurt a fly, strangely…comforting. It was something she could understand. Healthy? Probably not. Moral? Definitely somewhere in the shades of grey. But Lexa had also learned that that was, more or less, how life tended to operate anyway.

She was stirred from her thoughts as she realized that Jake, for his part, had begun to glance over at _her_ , though looking more anxious than anything else. She sighed internally – something would have to be said. The man looked as if he was about to tear the steering wheel in two with the force of his grip.

“Mr. Griffin, I—” “I’m so sorry, Lexa.” Predictably, they chose to speak at the same time, effectively talking over one another.

They glanced at each other, then away, and after an awkward pause Jake started again, sounding, to her horror, almost choked up. “I…I’m so sorry you saw that. I…I don’t know what came over me. That was…very out of character, and very irresponsible on my part. I should be setting a much better example.”

Lexa was momentarily surprised into silence; of all the things she thought he might’ve said, this hadn’t been one of them. Finally finding her voice, she said, “Don’t worry. Frank has a knack for bringing out the worst in people.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “That, he certainly does.” He hesitated. “I…don’t know how much you heard – not much I hope – but that… _man_ should’ve never been let around children. I’m so sorry that you and Anya – and your foster brother – were with him for as long as you were.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he wasn’t quite done. “And, still. I’m sorry for losing my temper as I did, and that you were there to see it. Even if I can’t control his actions, I should’ve been able to control mine. I…I hope I didn’t scare you, or make you feel uncomfortable in any way.”

“You didn’t.” The immediate reply startled both of them, but Lexa found that she meant it. “Perhaps it’s not…healthy, but I, well. I appreciated what you did. I don’t know many who would have done the same.”

He was silent for a time. Then: “I hope you know that life, in general, doesn’t usually contain this much violence. Or doesn’t have to, anyway. And I hope you know that you’re in a place where you shouldn’t need to resort to it, or see it around you.” His voice turned more than a little self-effacing. “Typically, anyway.”

“I do know that,” she said. “And…it’s nice. Different, but nice.” Injecting some much needed humor into the conversation, she added, “I don’t know that Anya would agree, but we’re working on it.”

He chuckled. “Ah, Anya’s a softie. Somewhere.”

They laughed, and the thick tension in the car lessened, the environment becoming a little more breathable. After a more comfortable silence, Jake said, “Well, anyway. I still am quite sorry for my actions – and rather ashamed, to be honest with you. I understand if you’d prefer I keep my distance or—”

“No,” Lexa cut in hastily. “That won’t be, er, necessary. Really, Mr. Griffin. I appreciate your apology, but it’s really not needed.”

“I see,” he said carefully, after a short pause. “Well, that’s good to hear.” He cleared his throat, sounding awkward. “Well, if nothing else, I’m glad we got your things back.”

“Oh!” Lexa turned to look at the cardboard box sitting innocuously in the back. She’d almost forgotten the reason they’d gone in the first place. “Right. Me, too. Thanks for taking me.”

He nodded shortly, and with that, they delved into silence once more, and soon enough were pulling into the Griffins’ driveway; Lexa found that the sight of the house was more than a little comforting. They sat in silence for a moment, before Jake let out a short sigh. “Well, if there’s anything I can do—”

“Would you play soccer with me?”

He stopped short, looking at her confusedly. Lexa flushed at her outburst, but made herself plow on. “Um…if you have time, I mean. I’d like to try out for the school team, but haven’t played much myself, and need to improve…” She trailed off and looked away, too embarrassed to continue on any longer.

When the silence after her request dragged on overly long, she looked over to see Jake grinning at her broadly from across the console. “Would I? I’d love to play with you. Any time you like.”

She smiled tentatively. “Good. That’s good.” On impulse, she stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

He stared at her hand for a moment, but before she could withdraw it, feeling idiotic, he smiled and shook it firmly. “It’s a deal, indeed.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “But anyway. Let’s head in. Abby’ll be wondering where we are, and anyway, I want to hear all about Anya’s cavities.”

She laughed. “Sounds good. I plan to seek immediate cover, myself.”

He chuckled, and together, they exited the car, taking the box with them as they headed back into the house. Jake unlocked the door, and let Lexa head in first before joining her as they headed towards the sounds of Abby’s vibrant account of Anya’s dentist appointment, Clarke’s amused laughter and Anya’s grumbling and protests punctuating the tale. Lexa felt any remaining tension drain from at her at the sounds, and a glance at Jake confirmed that he felt the same. Right before they entered the kitchen, he winked at her conspiratorially, and together, the two of them rejoined the rest of the family. As the sounds of the group’s greetings washed over her, she felt herself smile. It was nice to be back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reworked some scenes here several times, so I'm especially curious to hear y'all's thoughts on this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else's writing inspiration come only in chunks and at the most inopportune times?! Infuriating. 
> 
> But anyway - this one's a doozy. Enjoy!

In the days following Jake’s altercation with Lexa’s former foster parent, the mood in the Griffin household changed. Almost imperceptibly, the hesitance, the slight strain that had lingered at the fringes of the Woods sisters’ moving in, faded and eased; the jagged edges became a little softer. Lexa could be seen chatting with Abby, and, where she once made herself scarce around Jake, now seemed to welcome his presence, more and more of her small smiles making an appearance. And it wasn’t just limited to Lexa; Anya, too, seemed to shift, her harsh exterior now, at least, not quite so pointedly prickly. She no longer disappeared upstairs at the first opportunity, staying on the first floor and – if never exactly chatty – seeming more amenable to being in the presence of the others; she was less overtly hostile, which, as Lexa would point out, was a marked improvement to her previous state.

Both girls were comfortable with Clarke – though, of course, this was defined rather differently for either sister; Anya no longer took so much glee in antagonizing the blonde, preferring instead to crush her in “friendly” games of chess or, when she was feeling particularly bloodthirsty, Mario Kart, while Lexa…well, Lexa was hopeless, and at this point thought she was being rather pathetically obvious in her embarrassingly intense crush – an opinion Anya was only too happy to back up – but Clarke insisted on remaining infuriatingly oblivious.

As this new level of ease, hopeful and yet so fragile, slowly settled in, the objective of that violent encounter at Frank’s managed to get pushed to the side, both figuratively and literally. Jake had placed the cardboard box containing the sisters’ things under the table in the entryway when they had first returned, and there, the box stayed; Lexa, swept up in Abby’s recounting of Anya’s face-off with the dentist, had forgotten entirely to retrieve it. The box, deemed unsightly by the housekeeper a day later, had been moved into the coat closet by the front door, and now, completely out of sight as it was, stayed out of mind.

And so there it remained – until, that is, it was inadvertently discovered by an extremely frantic Clarke several days later, who, in the hunt for her Chucks, had managed to fling wide the door to just about every closet in the house.

“Shit, shit, shit…where the hell _are_ they?” she wondered aloud desperately, wincing as Wells, losing patience outside, leaned on the horn. “Jesus, Wells!” Further hindering matters, Anya and Lexa had abandoned her, having beat hasty retreats to the car, both clearly alarmed by her out-of-character disorganization that morning. Traitors. She knew she shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night, but she’d been so absorbed in her drawing – which had started off as absentminded sketching but had, over time, turned to focus on a certain jawline and eyes and nose and features that came together to resemble a certain face that had been lingering in her mind for startling amounts of time – that she’d stayed up until nearly 3 without even realizing it. And was now, blinking away tiredness even as she searched for her shoes, severely regretting it. It wasn’t _her_ fault Lexa was so damn sketchable.

She leaned deeper into the closet, pushing aside the scarcely-worn coats hanging there to see if she could catch a glimpse of the telltale white canvas – only to nearly catch a mouthful of cardboard instead. “The hell?” Clarke leaned away from the offending object, to see, yep, a cardboard box. When had _that_ gotten there? Desperation momentarily eclipsed by curiosity, she reached for the box, lifting the flaps – and froze. Because staring back at her, as if summoned by her thoughts, was Lexa. Or, well, a photo of Lexa, a far younger version of the girl, standing next to an equally younger Anya; behind them stood two adults who could only be their parents, though the cracked glass webbing out over the frame made it difficult to make out their features. Clarke reached into the box and hesitantly brought the photo closer, mindful of the glass, vaguely aware that she was poking her nose where it might not be welcome. Both girls were captured mid-smile – an uncommon sight for Lexa now and virtually unheard of for Anya –  and looked happier and more open than Clarke had ever seen them; little Lexa had her arms flung around her sister and was all but beaming. Clarke stared at the photo, a complicated tangle of emotions swelling up in her chest – reactive happiness at the sight of the Woods sisters’ contentment, sadness for what had now been lost. What could loss like that do a person? What _had_ loss done to Anya and Lexa? She felt a sudden surge of regret for the versions of the girls that she would never meet; the immediate irritation that followed – neither girl would thank her for her pity – had her looking away from the photo, feeling the vague sense of wrongdoing crystalize into very definite guilt. These were Anya and Lexa’s memories, their private things that would remain so unless explicitly made otherwise.

But just as she did, the horn outside blared again, and Clarke reflexively jumped back, sitting down hard on the wood floor and feeling very much as if she’d been caught in the act. Cursing, she lurched back into the coat closet, carefully replacing the photo in the box – catching a glimpse of something red as she did – and resuming her search for her shoes. She finally found the damn things, shoved in a dim corner and half buried under a fallen coat, and after grabbing them with one hand and her backpack in the other, she ran out of the house in her socks, Wells’ death glare temporarily wiping her discovery from her mind.

But though his irritation soon faded, the knowledge of what she’d found did not; the reminder of Lexa and Anya’s lives before tragedy struck stayed with her for the rest of the day.

 

**

“Was Clarke acting weird today?”

Anya didn’t look up from her phone. “Nope. Just you, like always.”

Lexa resisted the urge to throw something at her. “I’m being serious.”

Anya grunted as she tapped at her screen. “So am I.”

Lexa stared at her, deeply unamused as her sister, far from giving the conversation its due, seemed to only get _more_ absorbed into…whatever the hell it was she was doing on her phone. Then, her eyes narrowed as Anya, of all things, actually _smirked_ at the screen. This time, she didn’t hesitate before throwing a pillow at her. “Anya! Listen, dammit!”

Anya sourly removed the pillow from where, Lexa noted with grim satisfaction, it had hit her squarely in the face. “Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“I’m trying to talk to you, but it seems like you’re already busy,” Lexa replied. “Who the hell are you even _talking_ to, anyway?”

Anya glanced at her phone and immediately back up at Lexa, eyes shifty. “I…no one, it’s nothing.” She cleared her throat, putting the device aside. “Sorry, what were you asking again?”

Lexa looked at her flatly for a moment before deciding to let her sister’s incredibly lame attempt at changing the subject go. Anya’s bizarre behavior aside, at least it was being switched back to what she actually wanted to discuss. “Clarke. Was she acting strange today?”

“Uh...I don’t think so…?” Anya shrugged. “What do you mean?”

Lexa sighed. “I don’t know, she just seemed…off. She was quiet in the car and went straight to class instead of waiting ‘til the bell, and—”

“Didn’t stay and talk with you?” Anya finished wryly.

Lexa refused to let her embarrassment show. She wasn’t sure how well she succeeded. “Yes.” Damn. Her voice was a tad more plaintive than she’d prefer.

Anya just looked at her, amused. Clearing her throat, Lexa went on, saying, “But even at lunch, she was way less talkative than normal, and didn’t even take the, like, five separate opportunities to call Blake a nerd when he was talking about Caesar again. Normal Clarke _lives_ for that.”

Anya cocked her head, humming thoughtfully. “Huh. Now that I think about it, I guess she was a little less chatty than usual…but maybe she was just tired. She was totally off her game this morning.”

“Maybe…” Lexa replied, unconvinced. “I don’t know. She just seemed like something was on her mind, something that was bringing her down.”

Anya just shrugged again, clearly starting to lose interest in the topic. “You’re the resident Clarke Griffin expert, Lexa, not me…but I’m sure it’s nothing. Our girl wonder has nothing to bring her down, anyway.”

“Don’t say that, Anya,” Lexa replied, annoyed. “We don’t know everything about her life, you can’t make assumptions like that.”

Her sister held up her hands. “Alright, alright, jeez. Shit, Lex, if this is bothering you so much, why don’t just, I don’t know, ask her?”

“I…” There was no hiding the mournful lilt to her voice, and she looked down to stare at her hands. “What if _I_ did something?”

Her baring of her soul was met with silence. She looked up to see, to her vast unamusement, Anya doubled over in silent laughter. “Oh my god, seriously?”

“Oh god, I…I can’t,” Anya got out through her laughter. Lexa seriously considered moving straight to tackling her, but before she could Anya mercifully regained some of her composure. Well, she was still smirking, but at least she wasn’t openly laughing at her now. “God, Lexa, you’re such a loser, you know that? Like, a really, _really_ , gay, loser. It’s kind of sad.”

“Anya…”

Anya took in the thundercloud spreading over Lexa’s face and sighed. “Okay, calm down. Look, I get that you’re in way too deep and are already predisposed to melodrama as it is, but I can say with complete certainty that the odds of you doing anything to bring Griffin down are nonexistent. You’d hurl yourself off a cliff or, I don’t know, fight some dude to the death first.”

Lexa stared at her, slightly taken aback by Anya’s out of ordinary mini-speech. “Wow, An. Very eloquent.”

Anya snorted. “Yeah, yeah.” Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it as she added, “Look, if you won’t talk to her, just give her space. She’ll come to you eventually if it involves you. The whole thing’s probably all in your head, anyway.”’

“I hope.” Lexa watched as Anya read the new text she’d received, before smirking, _again_ , and typing out a reply. “Well, thanks, I guess. I’ll give you and Raven some space.”

Anya’s fingers froze mid-type, and she looked up, eyes wide, at Lexa. “W-what?”

It was Lexa’s turn to smirk. Gotcha. “Please, An. She’s the only other person at Ark whose presence you more than tolerate.” Her smirk widened. “Guess shop is going pretty well, huh? Nice going with that transfer.”

Anya scowled even as she flushed. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Lexa shrugged lightly. “We all have our crosses to bear, sister. I must bear mine.” She rose from her bed, heading for the door. “For the record, I do like Raven, though. Try not to mess that up, huh?”

She was out the door before she could hear her sister’s annoyed reply, allowing herself a pleased sigh as she stepped into the hallway. Sometimes, it was the little things in life. Like winding up Anya.

Lexa opened her eyes and felt her good cheer drain away completely as she took in the sight of Clarke. The other girl was standing a bit down the hall, staring right back with wide eyes, and, most alarmingly of all, was frozen in place with the cardboard box of personal effects, _her_ personal effects, firmly in her grasp.

 

**

Shit, shit, shit. This was _not_ how Clarke had imagined this going down in her head. She was supposed to have knocked softly at Lexa’s door, been permitted in and delivered the box with a simple explanation and then slipped away. Understated and appropriate.

This was neither. And judging from Lexa’s pale face and pursed lips, looked far, far worse.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to explain herself and this far-from-ideal situation, but she’d barely gotten out a “Lexa” was the other girl surging towards her, taking her by the forearm in a firm grip – Clarke let out a surprised yelp – and towing her to, Clarke realized, Clarke’s own room, moving at speed.

Clarke’s mind whirred. Oh, god, was this straw that had broken the camel’s back? Had Lexa snapped, the sight of her repressed memories too much? (In a more rational state of mind, both of these frantic thoughts would have been dismissed as ridiculous and completely at odds with the gentle and kind person Clarke had come to know over the past month, but in the moment nothing seemed out of the question.) How well did Clarke _really_ know Lexa, after all? How well did anyone know… _anyone_ , for that matter? How well—

“Clarke.”

Clarke blinked, her spiraling panic dissipating as she realized she’d been propelled onto her desk chair, the box now sitting awkwardly on her lap. Lexa was standing before her, looking a tad worried. “Are you okay?” She twisted her hands together nervously. “I- I’m sorry I pulled you like that, but I saw the box and I was worried that Anya might follow me and out and see it and—” She let out a breath. “That wouldn’t be good.”

Clarke just stared at her, panic completely gone now, overtaken by something like amazement. After everything, Lexa was apologizing to _her_. “Lexa, it’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for—I know you must be wondering what the hell I’m doing with your things.” She thrust the box at the other girl. “I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t snooping. I found it this morning when I was looking for my shoes, and I didn’t know what it was, and I looked in it, and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy or—”

“Clarke.” Her rambling speech was cut short by Lexa’s voice, suddenly calm, and she looked up from where she’d been staring at the box to take in Lexa’s face; the other girl no longer looked nearly as anxious as she had moments before – instead she’d noticeably softened, and though her lips were pursed again this time it was as if she was attempting to hold back a smile. “Take a breath. It’s okay. It seems as if we both spend a lot of time apologizing to each other, huh?”

Clarke felt her lips curling up in a smile of her own. “A little.” She shook the box a little. “But here – take it. It’s yours, I was just bringing it up to you.”

The humor on Lexa’s face faded a little as she regarded the box. “So it is.” She took the box from Clarke’s grasp slowly, her shoulders drooping as if it weighed a very great deal indeed. “So…you looked inside?”

Clarke winced. “Just for a second. I- I saw the photo.”

Lexa nodded, and then, to Clark’s surprise, smiled a little once more, though the expression was imbued with more wistfulness than anything else. “It’s a nice photo, to be fair.” She hesitated. “I…do you mind?” She glanced at Clarke’s bed.

Clarke, after a moment of stunned speechlessness, could only nod. Lexa sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, placing the box down at her feet before retrieving the photo from it, looking at it for a long moment. Clarke could only watch as Lexa’s eyes alit with a series of emotions – nostalgia, regret, a tinge of melancholic happiness – her heart lurching as the heavy thoughts that had been hanging over her all day sparked back to life.

_What could loss like that do to a person?_

“They were kind,” Lexa said finally, still staring down at the photo, her fingers almost, but not quite, brushing the cracked glass of the frame. “Almost everything else has faded, now…but they were kind. And they loved us.”

Clarke swallowed against the lump in the throat. “I’m sure they did, Lexa.”

“Anya remembers them a bit better than me,” Lexa continued, almost as if she hadn’t heard the other girl. “But she doesn’t like to talk about them much. I can understand that. Still…” She smiled, but this time it was more overtly pained than anything else. “I like to think that I take after our mother. I think I look like her, a little.”

Clarke couldn’t restrain herself any longer, and rose from the desk chair, joining Lexa on the edge of the bed, and, after a hesitant moment, placed her hand gently on the other girl’s back, following Lexa’s gaze to the photograph as she did. The cracked glass still posed a problem, but in the light of her bedroom – considerably better than that of the coat closet – she could make out the woman standing behind Lexa, sporting similar curly brown hair and green eyes; besides her stood a tall man, his slanted eyes and sharp cheekbones making it clear where Anya got her looks from. “You do. You both look a lot like them.”

Lexa’s half smile became a bit more genuine as she turned to regard Clarke, and Clarke felt her breath catch in her throat as Lexa’s eyes met hers. The moment stretched on, and Clarke felt oddly pinned, unable to look away, suddenly very aware of her hand still warm on Lexa’s back as the tension in the room suddenly rose.

Just as the pressure reached a breaking point she cleared her throat, feeling weirdly awkward as she removed her hand and looked away, forcing a chuckle. “So…any idea who Anya got her temper from?”

Lexa, after a moment, laughed, though she looked as dazed as Clarke felt. “That, I couldn’t say, unfortunately. It may be unique to her.”

“Maybe…”

They both looked down at the photo again, each lost in her own thoughts. Clarke, uncertain, considered broaching the subject of where her thoughts had been all day, but before she could Lexa let out a sigh, the sound decidedly final. “But anyway. I won’t make you sit through any more of this.”

“I want to,” Clarke said immediately. “I’m happy to.”

Lexa raised a brow at her quick reply, and though Clarke reddened, she powered on, saying, “Seriously, Lex. I- I want to be here for you. Whatever you want to talk about.”

Lexa looked at for a moment before nodding, the motion endearingly solemn. “Thank you, Clarke. I would like to be that for you, as well…if you would like.”

Clarke smiled, a little tremulous. “Sure.”

Lexa returned the smile, before bending to replace the photo, brushing the glass one more time as she did. Clarke caught a glimpse of red again as the box was opened, and saw that it was a red scarf, worn but neatly folded. She opened her mouth to ask, but just as soon closed it, not wanting to pry. Lexa noticed the motion, though, and looked at her askance.

Clarke shook her head. “I…it’s nothing.”

Lexa didn’t flinch. “You can ask, Clarke.”

Clarke, after a nervous moment, turned to look at the scarf. “The scarf…it’s pretty. Is it from your parents, too?”

Lexa hesitated, and Clarke winced, worrying that she’d, regardless of Lexa’s encouragement, overstepped her bounds. But after a moment, the other girl spoke, her voice oddly devoid of emotion. “No. It was a gift I received, several years ago.”

“…Oh.”

Lexa glanced at her sideways, before sighing, her figure deflating. “It was given to me by a girl named Costia. We were very close. I keep it as a memory of her.”

“Oh,” Clarke repeated, feeling foolish but not sure what else to say. “What…what happened to her?”

Lexa sat still for a moment, staring down at her tightly fisted hands. Then: “We met in a group home, when Anya and I were between foster homes. She was…everything, and got me through that time more than anything, any _one_ , else. She…” She glanced again at Clarke, and seemed to swallow, before continuing, “She was my first love.”

Clarke, not trusting her voice, just nodded. But the silence stretched on, and Clarke realized that Lexa was almost shaking with tension, her knuckles white. “I…Lexa—”

But the sound of her voice seemed to propel Lexa onto her feet, and without even looking at Clarke, she said, her voice tight, “I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry, I’ll go—”

She made for the door, but Clarke was right on her heels. “Lexa, wait—”

Lexa kept moving, and this time, Clarke didn’t hesitate before grabbing her hand, right as Lexa reached for the doorknob. “Lexa! That is _not_ what I was going to say.”

Lexa stilled, her back turned to Clarke, but Clarke plowed on. “I’m not uncomfortable. At all. I meant it when I said you could tell me anything, Lex. I’m glad you did.”

A moment of silence passed between them, Clarke staring at Lexa’s back, Lexa gripping the knob for dear life. But finally, Lexa sighed, and stepped away from the door, turning back to Clarke; the blonde tried not to react at the stark vulnerability in Lexa’s eyes. “You don’t…you don’t have to say anything you don’t mean, Clarke, I—”

“I mean every word,” Clarke interrupted, not wanting Lexa to doubt herself any further. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with what you told me, Lexa. Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Lexa peered at her, and Clarke looked back, trying to convey her sincerity. She must’ve been at least partially successful, because Lexa, after a moment, gave her a weak smile, one that Clarke was only too happy to return.

After a moment, Lexa turned back to the bed, and it was with relief that Clarke followed her. They took their seats once more, and it almost would’ve been like the last two minutes hadn’t happened – were it not for the very definite new understanding that hung above them. But Clarke wouldn’t have traded the information Lexa had confided in her for the world, let alone a little awkwardness, and so, after a moment, she said, “How long were you together at the group home?”

To her dismay, the seemingly safe question made Lexa’s shoulders droop once more; she was in the middle of internally cursing herself when Lexa replied, her voice quiet. “Less than a year…eight months. We were both fourteen. And it was, despite everything, good. Except…” Her voice dropped even further. “The director of the home…Nia. She found out about our relationship, and was disgusted. Went completely berserk…gave us the whole ‘perversion of nature’ spiel. We ignored it, or tried to, but she separated us as much as possible.” She sighed. “Eventually, she had Costia transferred to another group home, in the neighboring city. I didn’t find out until the day of the transfer, and by then, it was too late…I wasn’t able to say goodbye, or anything else. I found the scarf – Costia’s favorite – in my bunk. She left it for me.” Lexa rubbed her face with one hand, looking tired. “And that was that.”

Clarke stared at her, transfixed by the raw pain in Lexa’s voice and horrified by what she’d just heard, the casual cruelty and stunning indifference of it. It took a second to find her voice. “Lexa…I don’t even know what to say…”

Lexa stared bleakly down at the scarf. “There’s nothing much _to_ say. It’s in the past, now.”

The silence stretched on, and after a moment Clarke, her heart aching for the stoic girl next to her, reached over and, tentatively, took Lexa’s hand, trying to give comfort and express her sympathy and everything else she couldn’t say through the gesture. Lexa stiffened for a moment, but after shooting a glance at her relaxed somewhat, gently squeezing Clarke’s hand.

They sat there, and though the mood in the room was still a tad melancholy, the heavy gloom that had settled on them lifted, Lexa’s sharing of herself perhaps more cathartic than either girl realized.

Finally, Lexa shifted, letting out a long breath. “Thank you for listening.”

Clarke squeezed her hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Lexa opened her mouth to say something else, but they were interrupted – for the second time, Clarke noted irritably – by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A moment later they heard Jake knock on the door to Lexa and Anya’s room – Lexa shot Clarke a confused look, to which Clarke just shrugged – and then, after a moment of muffled conversation, his telltale heavy steps came headed towards Clarke’s room.

This time, the look Lexa shot Clarke was more panicked than anything else, and by the time Jake was knocking on the door had scooted so far away from the blonde she had nearly thrown herself off the bed (Clarke had watched this unfold rather bemusedly).

Jake poked his head in the door, and though his brows briefly raised at the sight of Lexa in Clarke’s room, said nothing on the subject, just grinning at the two of them. “Lexa! There you are, I’ve been looking all over!”

“Hi, Mr. Griffin,” Lexa replied, her voice aiming for, and completely missing, casual. Clarke resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“So,” he continued. “I think we’ve fallen behind schedule.”

“On…?”

He smiled and opened the door wider, revealing a soccer ball under his arm. “Training. What else?”

Clarke sat up straight, her brows raising even as she smiled. “Lexa! You asked him?!”

“You bet she did,” Jake replied, “We’ll get her ready to be the next Abby Wambach yet.”

Lexa finally recovered her voice. “I should probably learn how to kick first.”

They laughed, and before Lexa knew it she was being ushered out of the room, Clarke at her back. Talking and laughing, the three of them made their way out downstairs, leaving the memory-laden cardboard box safely tucked under Clarke’s bed, put – for the time being, at least – to rest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Titanic voice] It's been 84 years...
> 
> Or feels like it, anyway. What can I say, y'all, writing is, like, hard sometimes. S/O to HAIM and their smooth, smooth tunes for helping me finally get this out (fingers crossed for an album this year, PLEASE). 
> 
> Anywho, enjoy!

The linoleum tiles of Arkadia’s hallways were mercifully cool, Lexa thought absently. That, and the chill current coursing out from the air-conditioning vent overhead, made the hallway a pleasant place to sit after her sustained physical exertion in the hot sun for the last couple of hours.

She was distantly aware of the nervous chatter and laughter coming from the other girls a few feet away, and, a little closer than she’d prefer, Octavia talking away at her, the girl – who, if the speed and forced cheer of her speech was any indication, was feeling some anxiety of her own – presumably unaware of Lexa’s inattention.

Lexa wasn’t trying to be rude, though. It was just that she couldn’t focus on anything other than the wall across from her: a firmly closed door with a small nameplate affixed to it, declaring the office the domain of “G. Forster – Athletics,” and, next to it, a bulletin board, empty save for a piece of paper reading, in block letters, “JV GIRLS SOCCER ROSTER.”

Lexa swallowed reflexively. She’d drained at least three bottles of water at this point, but her throat remained stubbornly dry. Long periods of waiting were hardly foreign to her – be it for the shower in overcrowded foster homes, on benches outside social workers’ offices with Anya, or in line for meals at group homes – but this sort of waiting was entirely new and provoking a strange sort of anxiety within her.

It had started well before tryouts, too; she’d awoken that morning with the awareness settling on her, only growing as she’d put together her gear bag with her athletic clothes and water bottle and, handling them with reverent care, the cleats and shin guards that Jake had taken her to buy several weeks back, Clarke and Anya in tow.

From that day he’d come to Clarke’s room with a soccer ball under his arm and taken her out to the backyard, and from the moment she had, at his urging, experimentally kicked the ball, feeling an electric shock course up her leg and to her head at the contact, and turned to see his broad grin and Clarke whooping at the way the ball gracefully arced across the yard – well, she’d been hooked.

And it hadn’t stopped there. Jake had been willing to practice with her whenever she was able to muster up the will to ask – a task that became easier and easier as time went on – and then, after Octavia caught wind of her newfound goal (most likely courtesy of a very innocent looking Clarke), found herself drilling with her almost every day after school, the freshman’s scarily intense focus on securing a spot on the team driving Lexa on, too.

The weeks passed in this way – kicking the ball around with Jake, with occasional lemonade provided by Abby or brownies by Clarke (the latter option guaranteeing an appearance by Anya and rapid disappearance of brownies, much to Clarke’s outrage and Anya’s complete lack of guilt), practicing with Octavia, talking with Clarke’s group of friends at lunch (who Lexa would never admit were also, slowly, becoming _her_ friends), watching Anya and Raven trade barbed banter and, always, making time to study with Clarke, an activity that, as it usually ended with just studying _Clarke_ , remained the highlight of her day – until, with hardly a warning, tryouts were upon her, and with them the nauseous excitement and sharp anticipation that currently writhed through her.

When, that morning, she had come downstairs, her nervous anxiety propelling her to the kitchen well before Clarke or Anya, she’d paused briefly in surprise in the kitchen entryway at the sight of Abby at the counter, plating out what appeared to be scrambled eggs and home fries. Abby had just smiled at her and held out a plate, saying simply, “Eat up. You have a big day ahead of you.”

Lexa had, after a stunned pause, mutely accepted the plate, slowly taking a seat at the counter and pouring herself a glass of orange juice. The doctor’s appearance had thrown her for a moment – Abby was usually still taking a well-deserved rest at this time in the morning, and the girls were accustomed to fixing themselves a quick bowl of cereal or piece of toast before dashing out to meet Wells’ ever-punctual arrival at the driveway. Lexa forked herself a bite of eggs as she mused. Abby had roused herself well before she had to, early enough to cook a real breakfast for the girls and have it waiting for them – and, if her comment was to be believed had done it…for her? Her brows furrowed at the thought. No, that was silly. And yet— she sneaked a glance at Abby, only to see the doctor watching her, smiling thoughtfully at her over her mug. “Is everything alright, Lexa?”

Lexa had looked away, feeling sheepish. “I— yes, of course. Thank you for breakfast. I…” She took a breath. “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble, Dr. Griffin.”

Abby’s eyebrows had raised a little even as she’d smiled. “Surely you don’t consider scrambling a few eggs much trouble?”

“No, it’s just…I know you haven’t had much sleep, I hope you don’t feel like you had to—”

Abby had surprised her even further then, setting aside her coffee and reaching across the counter that separated them to lay a hand on her forearm. “Lexa. Today’s a special day for you, one you’ve been working so hard towards. Of course I made breakfast.”

She’d stared down at her plate, wondering for the umpteenth time at the Griffins’ collective ability to render her speechless. “Um…thank you.” The thought of the looming tryouts, the reason for Abby’s kindness, made her grimace as her stomach writhed uncomfortably. Suddenly, having the Griffins’ support, nice as it was, lost some of its sheen; there was no guarantee of her success, and the possibility that she would let them down – and, by extension, have wasted their time – felt all too real in that moment.

She was distracted from the downturn in her thoughts by a gentle squeeze on her arm. Abby was still looking at her, and this time, seemed far too knowing for the girl’s comfort. “I’m happy to do it. And Lexa, honey…Jake and I have been so thrilled by your dedication and determination. No matter how things go today, we’re so proud that you were willing to try. I think you should be proud, too.”

Lexa had just stared at her, without words for the second time in as many minutes. But she’d smiled, after a moment, the obvious genuineness in Abby’s words hitting her. “Thank you, Dr. Griffin. I…” Her smile had turned a little shy. “I think I am, a little.”

Abby looked pleased. “Good.” The sound of thundering footsteps on the stairs – Clarke and Anya racing, in other words – had drawn their attention then, and Abby just smiled at her before withdrawing to her side of the counter, retrieving her coffee as the other two crowded into the kitchen and Clarke’s slightly obnoxious, “Mom, since when do _you_ cook?” neatly ended the moment.

Octavia’s voice broke her from her thoughts. “God, this can’t be that hard of a decision to make, can it? It’s been _hours_.”

Lexa suppressed a sigh. Octavia had only become more plaintive as time wore on, though saying it had been “hours” was a tad dramatic; it couldn’t have been more than forty-five minutes since the coaching staff had disappeared into the office. “I’m sure they’ll post the roster soon enough, Octavia.”

“I can’t handle this,” the younger girl replied, her voice veering dangerously close to a whine. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.”

Lexa blinked. _She_ didn’t think she was calm, but then again Anya was endlessly mocking the smooth, impassive expression her face tended to default to – especially in times of inward turmoil. This wasn’t something she was about to try to express to the semi-awed freshman, though. “We’ve done the best with the opportunity we were given. Now, all we can do is see how it plays out.”

 She ended her stare-down with the office door when the silence besides her stretched on a little too long, glancing over to see Octavia gazing at her, mouth agape and eyes shining with something a little too close to hero-worship for Lexa’s comfort.  “Um…Octavia?”

Octavia closed her mouth, looking sheepish, only to open it again a moment later to say, “No wonder Gus likes you, you two are crazy similar.”

“Gus” referred to the man currently standing behind the object of Lexa’s unwavering glare – the slightly fearsome girls’ soccer coach, Gustus Forster, known to all (but conveniently only beyond his earshot) as Gus. Lexa had been immediately impressed by the hulking man’s no-nonsense attitude and tightly coordinated tryout activities, but she wasn’t quite sure how any of that carried over to him liking her. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you’re both serious and have that, like, stoic…warrior…thing going on…” She trailed off, reddening at Lexa’s bemused stare. “Look, I don’t know. You’re just alike, okay?”

“Um…okay?”

Octavia let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. “It’s a good thing. Really.” Her smile turned a trifle teasing. “Anyway, forget Gus – I think I get why _Clarke_ is so fond of you.”

“Wh-what?” Lexa turned fully to her, anxiety temporarily forgotten as the conversation took an entirely unexpected turn. “I don’t- that is- what do you mean?”

Octavia just looked at her for a moment, her brows rising, and it was Lexa’s turn to redden as she realized her reaction may have been slightly more dramatic than the moment called for. Before she could find the words to negate her reply, though, or, more importantly, get to the bottom of what exactly it was Octavia was talking about, there was a creak, and they both looked up to watch as the office door across from them swung open.

The reaction was instantaneous. The low hum of nervous chatter in the hallway ceased instantly, replaced by a tense silence, and the group of waiting girls watched as the infamous Coach Forster himself stepped out into the hall, his fierce, bearded visage betraying no expression as he eyed the crowd sitting before him. After a few moments of this unnerving display, he cleared his throat and said, “Ladies, apologies for the delay. I and the rest of the staff saw a lot of hard work and talent out on the field today, and we had to make some hard decisions. To those who didn’t make it: don’t take it too hard. Most of you have more years and more chances at Arkadia, so I urge you try out again next year. And to those of you who did…” His eyes swept over the crowd again, Lexa fighting the urge to blink as they flickered over her. “…congratulations, and welcome to the team. Practice begins next Monday after school, and will continue three times a week for the rest of the semester. I’ll see you then.”

His rather brief speech apparently concluded, he retrieved a piece of paper from his desk – Lexa swallowed at the sight of it – and, without any fanfare, pinned it to the bulletin board. One last look at the girls – and this time, Lexa could’ve sworn his eyes briefly paused on her – a nod, and then, he disappeared back into his office, the door closing firmly behind him.

There was a pause and then, as one, the girls surged to their feet, crowding around the board. Lexa watched as Octavia elbowed her way to the front, cries of irritation and outrage rising up around her, before sighing and pushing herself off the floor to join the fray.

As she did, girls began to move away from the crowd, some ebullient, hugging their friends and squealing with excitement as they texted out the good news, and others markedly less so, shuffling away and gathering their things.   

The crowd finally thinned enough for Lexa to make her way to the board, and she stepped up to the newly-pinned roster. The names were in alphabetical order, and, swallowing hard, she began to scan down the page. She paused briefly at the sight of “Blake, Octavia,” and glanced over to see the freshman to the side, talking excitedly into her phone. Octavia, noticing her, shot her a bright grin, her earlier anxiety all but wiped away as she gave Lexa a gleeful thumbs-up. Lexa, honestly happy for the determined girl, returned the smile before turning back to the list, forcing herself not to rush as she progressed downwards. Monroe…Rodriguez…Smith…Tso…Williams…her finger, tracing the names, abruptly stopped. She became aware, distantly, that her breathing had quickened, and for a moment could do nothing but stare. She blinked once, twice.

The ink on the page didn’t waver. “Woods, Lexa” remained no matter how many times she blinked. Lexa stared at the roster, a bizarre mix of emotion rising up in her chest so tangled she had no idea how to decipher it; it took a sudden flash of light to make her tear her gaze away, and she looked to see Octavia laughing as she snapped photo after photo on her phone. “Sorry,” the girl laughed, not looking sorry at all, “My flash was on – but I had to get this, you should see your face!” She held up a hand, making a face when Lexa just stared at it. “C’mon, don’t keep me hanging, Woods.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, but in that moment nothing could’ve truly annoyed her. She returned the high-five, and moved to gather her things, aware of the no-doubt foolish smile spreading over her face. She’d made it. She’d made the team. Wait ‘til she told Clarke.

 

**

“To Lexa, Arkadia’s newest star player!”

Clarke let out a cheer as Jake held out his glass for the toast, and reached over to clink her glass against his; Abby amiably joined in, and, after only a minor eye-roll, Anya lifted her glass a few inches off the table, though something that _may_ have been a smile tugging at the corners of her lips suggested that the exercise was not as odious as she was trying to suggest. Lexa, flushing, protested through her laughter. “I haven’t even played a _game_ yet—”

Clark silenced her half-hearted attempt with a look, and Lexa sighed and raised her glass, to the (loud) approval of the blonde and Jake.  

After they had all paused to take a sip, Jake cleared his throat. “But, in all seriousness, we’re all absolutely thrilled for you, Lexa. I’m glad that that coach – what did you say his name is?”

“Coach Forster.”

“Right, I’m glad Coach Forster saw your potential. Having seen you play the last few weeks I really think you could go far—”

Lexa nodded seriously as he went on, trying to hide a smile as she watched Clarke and Abby exchange long-suffering glances out of the corner of her eye. Jake didn’t pontificate often, but all bets were off once sports were involved.

“—and we’ll be going to all of your games, of course, which reminds me, does the team need anyone to bring snacks? Because I can totally do that—”

“Oh my god, dad,” Clarke finally cut in. “Let the girl go to her first practice before you plan out her career.”

He looked outraged for a second before deflating, letting out a rueful laugh. “Fair point. Sorry, Lexa, didn’t mean to overwhelm you. This household just hasn’t had much in the way of sports in a long time, Clarke isn’t really, er, inclined that way—“

“Hey!” It was Clarke’s turn to look outraged, Jake’s laughter not helping matters. “Not all of us can be athletes, _dad_. I mean, it’s not _my_ fault that running is the worst.”

“The worst? Of what, exactly?” Lexa asked, more than a little amused.

Clarke looked at her, all traces of humor wiped from her face. “Of everything, Lexa. Of everything.”

“Uh…” Lexa replied, somewhat alarmed. “Right.”

“Honestly, I don’t know where I went wrong with you two,” Abby sighed, looking aggrieved. “Between your father’s burger habit—”

“Hey!”

“—and your allergy to anything faster than a power walk, Clarke—”

“Mom, what the heck, that is so unfair—“

Jake and Clarke’s combined indignation overpowered Abby before she could finish, and the wry smile that had been playing at the corner of her lips as she spoke turned into a full-fledged laugh as they defended themselves, Lexa and Anya amusedly watching the scene unfold; the number and breadth of the father and daughter’s arguments in their favor suggested that this particular discussion had been hashed and re-hashed many times before.

Eventually Abby relented, if only to end that particular avenue of conversation, and once their egos were sufficiently soothed, turned back to the Woods sisters, who had been greatly enjoying the impromptu Griffin family debate take place before them. “Sorry about that, girls. Sometimes it seems like I’m raising two children, instead of just one—”

Jake puffed up once more, but Abby hastily continued, “—And we all are more than happy to defend our side of things. At length.”

Anya snorted. “No kidding.”

At that, Abby turned to her, Anya’s shoulders tensing as the attention at the table shifted to her. “Actually, Anya, I’ve been wondering for some time – do you have any interest in trying out for any of Arkadia’s teams?”

Anya scoffed, but when Abby just cocked a brow at her, apparently content to wait her out, cleared her throat awkwardly. “Um. Team sports aren’t really…my thing. Or…you know. Organized activities, in general.”

“In other words, anything involving groups of people,” Lexa clarified, her voice dry; at that, the table dissolved into laughter once more, and she, to her credit, barely reacted when something hit her ankle under the table.

“Well,” Abby said once she’d schooled her amusement, “If you do ever find any sport or activity in general you’d like to get involved with, Anya, we’d be happy to help you out with it.”

Anya grunted her acknowledgement, clearly done with topic; Lexa, however, was just starting to enjoy herself. “I think she’s pretty busy with shop, Dr. Griffin. Lots of things to, um, build—“ This time, there was no hiding her wince, Anya apparently intent on crippling her, or, barring that, incapacitating her with the sheer force of her concentrated fury alone.

Abby turned back to Anya, oblivious of the minor drama unfolding between the sisters, too intrigued by this new development. “Shop, really? That’s wonderful, Anya, I didn’t know you’d enrolled—“

As Anya fielded Abby’s nonstop questions on the subject, her face forced into a horrible rictus of a smile, Lexa sat back, feeling enormously content, and as she did, caught Clarke’s eye, the amused glint in the girl’s eyes telling Lexa she knew perfectly well what Lexa had done and, far from having qualms about it, was enjoying it just as much. The two shared a conspiratorial smile, and the thought occurred to Lexa – not for the first time – that one could very much get used to the feeling of belonging.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given myself several cavities writing this, it's so self-indulgent. I regret nothing.


	12. Chapter 12

“So, has the star athlete swept you off your feet yet?”

Raven watched serenely as Clarke choked on her coffee, merely raising her eyebrows when the blonde had recovered enough to send her a dirty look. “What? It’s a valid question.”

Clarke glared as she wiped away the coffee that had spilled during her coughing attack. “What are you _talking_ about? _Who_ are you talking about?”

“Uh, judging from that reaction, I’d say you know.” Raven took a dainty sip of her cappuccino as she waited.

Clarke looked at her flatly. “I really don’t.”

“Piercing green eyes, killer biceps, and, oh yeah, living down the hall from you?”

Raven was gratified to see, finally, the blonde redden a tad, even as she scoffed. “Raven, it’s more than a little patronizing to say that just because Lexa likes girls she automatically likes _me_.” Clarke looked around the café they were sitting in as she spoke; Grounder’s was a popular study and hangout spot for Ark kids, being only a block from the school as it was, and serving a decent latte to boot. “And keep your voice down, would you? The last thing she would appreciate is a ridiculous rumor going around.”

Raven rolled her eyes. The café was only half full, in the awkward lull between the after-school crowd and the post-work business types; the only reason she and Clarke were posted up there was to wait for the subject of their current conversation to finish with soccer practice, a habit Clarke had formed over the past couple of weeks so that Lexa would have a ride after practice. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Griffin, no one gives a shit. And as for that ‘ridiculous rumor’…You’d be right – if that was the case. Seriously, I had no idea you were this oblivious.”

Clarke’s blush deepened. “I’m _not_. Lexa and I- she doesn’t- we’re not like that.”

Raven just smiled. “Oh, so there’s a ‘we,’ huh?”

“Raven!”

Raven laughed delightedly. “You make it too easy, you know that?” Seeing Clarke’s increasingly displeased expression, she sighed. “Alright, alright. But seriously, Clarke. I was gonna let you figure this out yourself, but it’s been _months_. Wells and I can’t take it anymore.”

“Okay, first off, it’s barely been two months, and second off, can’t take _what_ anymore, exactly,” Clarke replied, her voice dangerous.

“You can’t be serious. Lexa has got it _bad_ for you, Griffin. For god’s sake, Wells and I could tell before we even met her, based just on what you told us! And now it’s just confirmed and re-confirmed, just about, oh, I don’t know, every time we see you two together.”

Clarke stared at her, looking both irritated and flustered. “I don’t- Raven- you’re being ridiculous.”

Raven folded her arms stubbornly. “Does she even know that it’s an option?”

At that, Clarke really turned red, shushing Raven dramatically as she frantically looked around the café for anyone overly interested. (No one looked up from their laptops.) “Would you keep your voice down?!”

Raven just looked at her, unimpressed. “Would you stop that? No one’s listening. And again, really not that big of a deal. The Great Finn Debacle of Freshman Year would turn me off guys, too. Anyway, you told me, like, half a year ago.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Not a big deal to _you_ , maybe. I mean, I barely just finished figuring it out for myself…”

“Did she help out with that?” Raven asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“ _Raven_ —” Clarke cut herself off when the other girl began to laugh. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Aw, I’m just messing with you, Clarkie,” Raven said, trying (and failing) to suppress her grin. “But really. Her telling you was the perfect opening. Why didn’t you tell her?”

Clarke released a frustrated sigh. “It would have been weird, the timing wasn’t right. You weren’t there, she was really upset and I didn’t want her to think I was, like, trying to switch the attention over to me or, I don’t know, making light of what she was telling me—”

“Claaaarke,” Raven interrupted, looking deeply pained. “You’re killing me. Do you hear me? You’re _killing_ me. Your housemate is into you. It wouldn’t have been weird. I can’t believe I have to tell you this.”

“Raven, Lexa and I are _friends_ ,” Clarke replied, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again. Raven had always been prone to bouts of melodrama. “ _Just_ friends. And like you just pointed out, we _live_ together. Obviously we’re gonna spend a lot of time together. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Raven snorted as she drained the rest of her cappuccino. “So do we, Clarke. But, despite my stunning good looks, you don’t look at _me_ the way you do her – hard to believe as that may be. Or she, you, for that matter.”

Clarke opened her mouth to reply, but the tinkling of the bell signaling someone walking into the café distracted her, and she looked over Raven’s shoulder to see Lexa walk in, gym bag slung over her shoulder, sweaty and rumpled from practice and hair windswept. Raven turned a bit to see what exactly Clarke was smiling at so brilliantly, her face pink all over again, and rolled her eyes enormously at the sight of Lexa, who for her part, looked just as pleased to see Clarke, barely sparing a glance for at Raven as she made her way to their table at speed. “Just friends,” Raven muttered. “Right.”

 

**

Clarke toyed awkwardly with her phone, trying to project normalcy, before giving up and shooting a glance at Lexa through the rearview mirror; the other girl looked calmly out the window, appearing as impassive and thoughtful as she always did when left to her own devices…until, that is, she happened to look up, meeting Clarke’s gaze in the mirror, and smiled, the expression all the more genuine for its immediacy. Clarke returned the smile before quickly looking away, sure she was flushing and cursing Raven for the umpteenth time. The girl’s claims were completely ridiculous, totally unfounded, and had planted themselves firmly in Clarke’s mind, refusing to leave. Which was completely _stupid_ and utterly unhelpful. _Dammit, Raven._

The girl, as if sensing Clarke’s thoughts, shot her a smirk from behind the steering wheel; she had her mother’s car for the day and had, with uncommon generosity, offered to wait with Clarke after school for Lexa. Clarke realized now, darkly, that she’d really just been planning to have her version of a heart-to-heart with her, a plan that she also suspected Wells had been in on, if the series of lame excuses he’d used to get out of dropping her off were any indication. Plotting behind her back, huh? Or, more to the point, plotting about her love life. (Or lack thereof.) Not cool, guys.

It didn’t help that every time she tried to stop thinking of it once for all her mind jumped back to Raven’s exasperated question. Why hadn’t she told Lexa? Well, part of it _had_ been the timing. Lexa had been so vulnerable, all Clarke could think of in that moment was reassuring her, in the most honest way possible – and that didn’t include telling her about something Clarke had only learned about herself recently.

(A small, irritating voice in the back of her head reminded her that another, equally viable, reason had been that every time she thought of her, and Lexa, and their…options…she felt herself turning red, which was incredibly embarrassing and immature and cliché and not something she wanted to deal with. Especially since, oh yeah, she and Lexa _weren’t like that_. They were friends, and she liked Lexa…a lot…but she was also very aware of the fact that they lived together, and assuming things about Lexa and making things weird between them – while still, you know, _living together_ – was the last thing Clarke wanted.)

She resolved grimly to have a have a sit-down with Wells and Raven, sooner rather than later, and set them straight. This had clearly already gone on for way too long as it was; Lexa would _not_ appreciate this and she had to nip it in the bud.

Her phone buzzed, giving her a merciful reprieve from her unpleasant thoughts.

**Mom [5:32 PM]:** Are you and Lexa on your way home?

Clarke frowned. Her mom didn’t typically check up on her, trusting her to get back in a timely fashion after school.

**Clarke [5:32 PM]:** Yeah what’s up?

There was a pause, and she frowned deeper at the sight of the typing dots that appeared, and then disappeared, only to appear once more. Finally:

**Mom [5:33 PM]:** Come back soon.

Well, _that_ wasn’t cryptic or anything.

**Clarke [5:33 PM]:** Why???

**Clarke [5:33 PM]:** Mom why are you being weird

She stared at her phone as her mother typed, the reply coming mercifully sooner than the last. She quickly, realized, however, that the quick reply wasn’t going to calm her newly-roused concern. Just the opposite, in fact.

**Mom [5:34 PM]:** Lexa and Anya’s social worker is here for an unannounced wellness check. She’s asking for Lexa. Be back soon

 

**

They pulled up to the house in record time, Raven – roughly the complete opposite of Wells when it came to driving (and everything else) – bending just about driving law on the books to get them there after taking in Clarke’s expression.

To say that the car was tense was an understatement; it had settled on the three of them, heavy and stifling, from the moment that Raven had noticed Clarke staring, frozen, at her phone and demanded to know what was wrong – a question that prompted Lexa to jerk up from her reverie out the window, eyes filled with naked alarm and worry – an expression that hardened and then, abruptly, smoothed out to her default stoic mask, chin lifting, after Clarke had summoned the courage to tell her Abby’s message.

“You guys gonna be okay?” Raven’s voice, uncharacteristically tentative, broke the silence.

Clarke swallowed and forced a smile. “Yeah. It’s…it’s probably just a routine thing. It’ll be fine.”

Lexa didn’t say anything. After a moment, Clarke, having exchanged a glance with Raven, opened her door and slipped out, murmuring her thanks for the ride. Lexa followed suit, and the two headed up the path, neither mentioning the unfamiliar car in the driveway. There was nothing to be said, anyway.

Just before they Clarke unlocked the front door, though, she felt Lexa pause, her frame stiffening. She chanced a glance at the girl, and saw the way her jaw tensed, her shadowed eyes, the tight trip on her gym bag, and didn’t think twice before reaching out and taking her hand. Lexa shot her a quick look, startled, but Clarke just gave her a small, hopefully reassuring smile. There was no need for words; their mutually tight grip said it all. They stood there on the stoop for a moment, until, with one last squeeze, Clarke let go and opened the door, and they slipped inside.

 

They had a new social worker. That was the first thing Lexa registered. Their previously assigned worker had been a middle-aged woman loaded with far too many cases and, as had become apparent towards the end, completely burned out, to the point of indifference – a stress-caused apathy that had probably kept Anya and Lexa placed at Frank’s house for as long as it had.

But this was someone new. New, and so clearly green, her nerves so blatantly obvious even as she tried to project authority and competence, that Lexa had to wonder just how old, exactly, she was; she looked like she should be in college, not government work, her almost unnaturally pale skin and wide-eyed gaze not doing much to bolster Lexa’s confidence.

The woman— _girl_ — stood from where she’d been sitting gingerly on the edge of an armchair in the formal living room the Griffins rarely used; just the fact that Abby – who was sitting next to Jake on an adjacent loveseat, looking tense – had opted to hold…whatever this was in here, as opposed to the far more comfortable den, set Lexa’s teeth further on edge. “Hello. You must be Lexa.”

Lexa just looked at her, trying to draw comfort from Clarke’s presence at her side.

The worker cleared her throat after an awkward pause. “Right. I’m your and your sister’s new social worker, Lexa, I was assigned to your case a few weeks ago. My name’s Maya Vie.” She had been approaching as she spoke, and now held out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Lexa stared at the hand, getting an unpleasant burst of déjà vu – how many times had she heard this spiel, shook the hands of the new foster parent, home director, social worker? It had stopped being novel quite a while ago. Clarke shifting awkwardly next to her forced her from her thoughts, and she sighed internally, reaching out to quickly grasp the worker’s hand. “Hi. Likewise.” Not her best performance, but it would have to do.

Maya seemed a bit bolstered by Lexa’s show of…any type of emotion, and smiled before turning and exchanging greetings with Clarke, who, though Lexa could tell was equally uncomfortable with the proceedings, replied with politer normalcy than Lexa had been able to muster.

Introductions over with, the girls moved back into the living room, Clarke squeezing in with her parents and Lexa sitting next to Anya across from them, exchanging a quick glance with her sister as she did. Anya was so stiff Lexa half-worried she was going to pull something, and in their moment of eye-contact had managed to communicate volumes about whatever it was that was going on here. Anya was wary, and on alert, but not openly hostile; Lexa could only assume that Maya hadn’t dropped any bombs.

Not yet, anyway. Maybe she’d just been waiting for Lexa to get here. She clenched her jaw even tighter at the thought.

She loathed social workers, as a rule. She knew it wasn’t particularly fair. Social work wasn’t exactly a glamorous field to enter, after all, and between the endless government regulations and pitiful wages, those who entered it were by and large truly invested in their work and dedicated to the welfare of their charges.

But Lexa knew all too well how quickly good intentions could run up against the harsh walls of reality. Resources were scarce, indifference was everywhere, and right on its heels, neglect and greed, an unfortunate combination that every child in the system had faced at least once. The Woods sisters had never been saddled with overtly ill-intentioned social workers, but their advocates could only do so much when faced with such limited options, a situation only exacerbated by the excess of cases each had to juggle at a time.

It was more than that, though. Lexa had always been practical; she didn’t begrudge them for a situation that they themselves had little ability to change. No, it was more of what they represented, what they reminded her of every time she had to face one: that she, since the day her parents had died, had no control over her own life, had been robbed of her agency the moment she had been declared a ward of the state. Granted, she’d been a child at the time, and presumably would have been under the guardianship and guidance of her parents had she not been in the system, but it was hard to remember that when she and Anya were tugged in and out of homes, from a school there to a school here, placed with assholes like Frank – and all by a seemingly indifferent, unfeeling government. A System. And represented by the people exactly like the young woman sitting a few feet from her, daintily crossing her ankles and smoothing out her skirt as she, quite possibly, prepared to deliver orders that would upend Lexa’s life all over again, orders that, to add insult to injury, were likely prepared by some apathetic pencil-pusher she had never met in an office building she would never see.

So, no. She wasn’t particularly inclined to _like_ Maya Vie, no matter how well-intentioned or idealistic she may be. She didn’t need to glance at Anya to know her sister was on the same page; this wasn’t their first rodeo.  

“Well, now that we’re all here,” Maya said, breaking the silence. “I can go back to what I was starting to tell your foster parents, Lexa, Anya.”

Neither sister replied, again, and after a moment she bravely plowed on. “As I mentioned, I was recently assigned your case. I’ve had time to look over the details, and I have to admit that I found myself concerned by the…unorthodox…manner of your transfer here.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed, and on the love seat, Abby stiffened. Maya, perhaps sensing the thickening tension, hurried to continue. “I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing, necessarily – I took the liberty of reviewing your approval documents, Mr. Griffin, Dr. Griffin, and though they also appear to be a tad, er, rushed, nothing looks out of place. I understand that you both have been taking the necessary training.”

Lexa looked over to the couple in surprise, Anya following suit. Training? The couple both nodded at Maya, and then Jake, perhaps sensing the confusion exuding from the sisters, looked to them, smiling comfortingly. “Nothing to worry about, girls. Just some classes and things Abby and I’ve been taking, administrative stuff – just wanted to ensure that your place here is secure and that we’ve taken care of all the requirements.” Abby nodded reassuringly besides him.

They both calmly returned the sisters’ searching gazes, and after a moment Maya cleared her throat. “Um, yes. Typically that type of thing is expected to be completed _before_ any fostering begins, but, well, considering the circumstances, my predecessor seemed to think it was allowable.”

Lexa frowned at the word choice, and Anya, besides her, said, her voice hard, “And what do _you_ think?”

 Maya blinked, looking embarrassed. “Well, to be honest, I have my reservations, Anya. The vetting process is difficult by design, to ensure that only the most suitable and appropriate individuals qualify, and—”

“So I guess that means our previous foster parent fit those exacting requirements, huh?” Anya interrupted, all but spitting the words. “Funny, that wasn’t what I was thinking when I was dragging my sister to the _emergency room_.”

A long, awkward silence filled the room; Maya flushed, her pale skin suffusing with color, and Lexa was abruptly reminded of the last time Anya had shut down a conversation with her cutting words. Unlike that time, though, she was feeling far less forgiving, and simply watched as the social worker fumbled for words. “I…that is…” She took a deep breath, and, to the sisters’ surprise, looked Anya directly in the eyes. “That’s a good point, Anya. You’re right to point that out, and right to be angry.”

Lexa felt her brows lifting. It seemed the wet-behind-the-ears worker had some backbone, after all.

“I…” Maya paused, taking in the room’s other members; the three Griffins were sitting stiffly, all clearly angry on the sisters’ behalf, and their combined, silent anger was a formidable force in the room. Jake alone, with his tensed jaw and shadowed face, looked ready to share his opinion, at length, were it not for Abby’s hand on his knee, restraining. “I’m sorry, but I think it may be best if I talk to Lexa and Anya – my _charges_ – in private.”

All three of them immediately leaned forward, mouths open to begin their protests, but, to everyone’s surprise, Lexa cut in. “It’s fine, Mr. Griffin, Dr. Griffin,” she said calmly, never looking away from Maya. “We’ll talk with Ms. Vie. Alone.”

“But—” That was Jake, sounding torn at the idea of leaving them.

“Of course, Lexa,” Clarke said, jumping up, “Take all the time you need.” Lexa had felt her eyes on her, and she wondered at what the blonde had seen. Clarke shot her and Anya a small smile, before tugging her parents along, Jake looking back uncertainly the entire time.

And then, it was just the three of them, alone in the uncomfortable formality of the living room.

Lexa watched Maya – the social worker, now that it was just the three of them, was looking rather uncertain once more, her surge of courage apparently over – and felt her face smooth out to its impassive default, worn in times of stress…and of _battle_. “So what can we do for you, Ms. Vie?”

“And also, while we’re here— how _old_ are you, anyway?” Lexa barely managed to keep her lips from twitching. Anya could be merciless.

Maya looked between them, looking helpless, before sighing. “Look, girls. I understand that you’re frustrated, maybe scared—”

“We’re _not_ scared.” Anya again, maybe a tad too quickly.

“—But I meant it when I said that you were right to feel angry, earlier,” Maya finished. “The foster care system has a duty to protect the children under its care, and it— _we_ — failed. We failed you both. And for that, I’m sorry.”

The girls just looked at her, their silence saying more than words ever could. Apologies were just words, and, even despite what recent experiences had shown them, by and large, and _especially_ with the government, words were cheap. Maya seemed to get the message. “I also understand that you may both be feeling less than inclined to trust me, or even like me. Your social workers haven’t always done right by you.”

“No shit.”

Maya valiantly continued through Anya’s attempts to ruffle her. “So…I want you to know that I’m not here to do anything. Not yet.”

Lexa finally spoke. “Then why _are_ you here?”

Maya looked to her, her brow briefly furrowing. “I…I wanted to meet you both, in person, for one thing. And to meet the Griffins. From what I understand, they weren’t vetted in-person until after your placement here. As your social worker, that is _very_ worrying.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Anya interrupted. “But I’ll tell you something: the Griffins, in the past two months here, have already given more of a damn about us than the last four fosters parents we’ve had _combined_ , and if, if you—” She cut off abruptly, looking away, but not before both Lexa and Maya saw the pained fury sweeping over her face, probably, Lexa thought, just as angry at herself for showing too much, as she was at the woman before them.

Maya watched her for a moment, her face softening. Then, carefully, she said, “I hear you. And it’s good to know that they’ve been taking care of you like they should.”

“They have,” Lexa said shortly, when it became apparent that Anya wasn’t going to reply.

“Good. That’s good. I…I will say that having met them, however briefly, much of my concern is put to rest.”

Lexa just nodded.

Maya eyed them further for a moment, before blowing out a frustrated breath. “I’ve just about said my piece, girls. I just want you to know that there are people within the agency who care, very much, about the minors in our care— about _you_. I hope to prove that to you.”

Lexa sighed. “You’ve said that, Ms. Vie. And maybe you mean it. If you do, then right now, the best way to prove it is to tell us what you plan to do with us.”

“Well…nothing,” Maya replied, taken aback. “You both have made it clear that you want to stay here, that you’re being cared for. Is that correct?”

“It is.” This time, the affirmation, strangely, made Lexa’s throat tighten. _Being cared for_. Because that just about summed it up, didn’t it?

“I’m glad to hear it,” Maya replied, her voice soft. “Then, it’s decided. You’ll be staying here, until further notice, or until you let me know otherwise. Sound good?”

They nodded, and the three of them sat in a silence mercifully less tense than the last. Until: “And for the record…I’m twenty-five. But I’ll take your earlier question as a compliment, Anya.”

Lexa felt her lips curl. The worker looked old enough to be their classmate, but at least she had a sense of humor.

 

**

Maya excused herself soon after, talking to the elder Griffins quietly for a few moments before slipping out the front door. Lexa had slumped back against the stiff cushions of the uncomfortably formal couch she and Anya were sharing, feeling oddly drained and missing the den very much, when they returned, Clarke right behind.

No one spoke for a moment. Lexa, suddenly faced with the people she’d been speaking so much about, _feeling_ so much about, found herself awkward and tongue-tied; a glance at Anya confirmed her sister was faring no better.

Finally, Jake spoke, looking tentative. “Everything okay, girls?”

Lexa nodded, slowly. Jake studied her, and then Anya, and seemed to come to a decision, clapping his hands together decidedly. “Great! Now that that’s taken care of then, I move that it’s clearly time for chocolate chip cookies. Many of them.”

“Jake, sweetheart, you _always_ move that it’s time for cookies.”

“Hey! They’re the ultimate food group, Abs—”

As Jake and Abby fell happily into a clearly well-worn debate, the tension in the room faded into the background, and both Lexa and Anya felt themselves relaxing as they returned to familiar territory. As cookie preparation kicked off in the kitchen (Jake having worn Abby down), Clarke turned to the sisters, looking worried. “Hey, but really, is everything okay? She’s not…not doing anything, is she? Unless—” Another thought struck her. “Unless…you _wanted_ her to?”

Lexa was shaking her head before Clarke had finished the sentence. “Hey, hey.” She grabbed Clarke’s hand, quieting the girl. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine. And we’re not going anywhere.”

Clarke searched her eyes, trying to verify her words, before breaking into a brilliant smile. It was only then that the blonde seemed to notice Lexa holding her hand, and Lexa watched bemusedly as she, suddenly, turned alarmingly red, though for what reason, Lexa couldn’t say. After a moment, Clarke got a hold of herself, though, and had barely uttered an “I’m glad” was she throwing her arms around Lexa. Lexa was only too happy to return the embrace, and the two parted only when Anya let out a disgusted groan – at which point Clarke, smirking, disengaged from Lexa – only to give Anya a quick hug, too, squeezing her once before retreating to a safe distance (conveniently placing Lexa between them in the process).

Lexa, after a shocked moment, burst into laughter, and though Anya sneered, her lips quirked suspiciously at the corners.

Behind them, at the counter, Jake and Abby watched, and exchanged knowing smiles of their own. Their bid to let the girls work it out between themselves had succeeded, it seemed. Unnoticed, Abby cast Jake a questioning glance, and he nodded: the appearance of the sisters’ social worker had cast discomfiting ripples, reminding them all of the precariousness of the Woods’ position. Neither Jake nor Abby were about to let the girls slip through their fingers, taken away by the system on account of a single missing piece of paperwork or training.  The “administrative stuff,” as Jake had dismissively referred to in front of the girls, in reality amounted to hours of work put in by both parents, as they sought to ensure they were fully certified and licensed to foster, even if it was after the fact.

And so Jake nodded. Because they would keep putting in the work. The scene before them – Clarke laughing, holding Lexa out in front of her, an amused human shield, as Anya advanced on them menacingly, her slight smirk belying any true hostility – made it instantly worth it. The sisters had a home here, even if Jake and Abby knew it before they did. The elder Griffins would see to it that it stayed that way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or: the author strives to make the whole "24-hr foster approval" thing mildly more plausible lolz
> 
> (i know roughly *holds fingers barely apart* this much about the foster care system, do what i do and ~suspend your disbelief~)
> 
> thanks as ever for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands* I'm baaack!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, y'all. All I can really say about the 40,000 years it took to get this chapter out is that it, to be frank, proved to be quite a bitch to write, and in unrelated news I've burned through the first three seasons of Scrubs in the last 2 weeks because I've clearly lost control of my life.
> 
> Also, note for those who care about such things: In the extended, horrible process of writing this chapter, I took a long, hard look at my life (my outline), and after some review and re-shuffling this story will now conclude in 21 chapters, mostly because I'm long-winded af. 
> 
> ANYWAY, on with the story! here's 8000 words of soccer and other things.

Tighten laces. Knot them once, twice. Pull up socks for the fourth time. Straighten jersey.

Fight down rising nausea. Regret “power breakfast” foster parents presented with expectant eyes.

As pre-game rituals went, Lexa wasn’t sure how effective hers was. Considering she didn’t have anything to compare it to, though, she supposed she was just going to have to take it. Everyone had to start from somewhere, right?

The empty locker room remained unhelpfully silent.

“Yo, Woods! You coming?”

Octavia took a step back, almost backing into a locker, when Lexa turned sharply in her direction; Lexa could only imagine what her face looked like in that moment. “Uh…you okay?”

Lexa cleared her throat, forcing her face to smooth out. “Of course. Are you ready?”

“Hell yeah!”

Lexa stood, kicking her locker shut. “Good. Then let’s do this.”

Octavia thrust her fists in the air, whooping, and made for the exit. Lexa stood for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them, there was no trace of the anxiety that churned through her gut.

The two made their way out of the locker room, the door slamming shut behind them with a definite bang.

It was game day.

 

**

“’Scuse me, pardon me, crippled girl coming through!”

“Oh my _god_ , Raven,” Clarke hissed as they made their way through the crowded bleachers. “You’re making a scene.”

“I’m _trying_ to get a seat, so I can STRETCH OUT MY DISABLED LEG,” Raven yelled in reply, and this time, the shameless guilting – despite some sideways glances by various onlookers – prompted action, an entire bench clearing so that Clarke, Raven, and their retinue (e.g. a very bemused Jake and Abby, with a deeply embarrassed Anya trailing behind) could sit.

Once the group had settled, Raven let out a satisfied sigh, taking in the clear view of the soccer field before them. “I love a good view.”

Clarke snorted. “Yeah, especially when you shamed your way into it.”

“Hey, Griffin, this brace isn’t just for show, you know.”

Clarke softened. “I know. Is your leg okay? I think my mom has some Advil.”

Raven waved her off. “Eh, it’s fine. I popped a few pills before we left.” Talking over Clarke’s sputtering, she leaned over to regard Anya. “Ready to watch baby Woods crush the competition?”

Clarke braced herself for the cutting reply certainly inbound. 3…2…1…

She waited, and waited, but it never came. She chanced a glance at Anya, only to nearly fall off the bleacher at the sight of the older girl, of all things, _smiling_. Okay, maybe “smirking” was more accurate, her lips barely curled up, but all in all it was still very much a bona fide look of amusement. “Is that what we’re calling her now?”

“Sure,” Raven replied carelessly, “I figure we can give it a test run, huh, cheekbones?”

Clarke stared at her, mouth agape. Cheekbones? _Cheekbones_? Okay, yes, Anya had great bone structure, but Clarke valued her life far too much to make any remark about it whatsoever. Her eyes narrowed abruptly. She knew Raven and Anya were friendly, that they were in shop together, but Raven hadn’t really made it out to be anything more than that. But Raven was also infamous for keeping things close to chest…

She looked to Anya, again, more suspicious than discreet this time around – a mix that had Anya glaring at her almost immediately, her slight smile gone as quickly as it’d come. “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing!” Hmm. A little less high-pitched next time, Griffin. Anya held her glare for a moment before rolling her eyes, returning to her inspection of the field. Besides Clarke, Raven coughed, the noise sounding suspiciously similar to a chuckle.

Clarke fought the urge to massage her temples. Despite her excitement and nervousness at the game about to unfold before them – Lexa’s first game! – she had a feeling that the game apparently being played around her was going to be equally taxing.

A shadow fell over her, distracting her from her rather depressing musings, and she looked up to see Bellamy’s tall form looming over her. “Sup, C.”

“Bellamy!” Clarke smiled, pleased to see him. “Ready for O’s debut?”

He snorted, but his smile was more proud than anything else. “God, she was bouncing off the walls this morning. Mom had to talk her down.”

“Aw, Ms. Blake,” Clarke said, looking around expectantly. “Did you come with her?”

He shook his head. “Nah, got a ride with Wells. Mom’s coming from work later.”

Clarke nodded silently. Aurora Blake, as a single mother devoted to her children, often found herself in the unfortunately ironic situation of not being able to see them much, consumed with work as she was. It had bothered Bellamy when he was younger, Clarke knew, but he’d come to see it for what it was: her providing for them, even if it sometimes came at the cost of not being able to spend time with them.

“Jeez, Clarke, seeing me isn’t _that_ bad.”

She rolled her eyes at the newcomer, who had ambled up behind Bellamy. “Sit down, Wells.”

He grinned, and did so – but not before greeting Jake and Abby, the duo replying with enthusiasm, prompting another eye roll from Clarke. Her parents _loved_ Wells, and voiced the sentiment, often. She couldn’t blame them; he was, after all, her oldest friend, and genuinely the kindest person she knew.

Wells, for his part, and as any true friend would, took an enormous amount of pleasure in having lengthy chats with whichever elder Griffin was home whenever he came over, partly to annoy Clarke, but really, as she would grudgingly admit, because he loved them right back, having known them since he was in kindergarten, and was perfectly suited to listen patiently, nodding and humming sympathetically at the right moments, to her dad’s incredibly technical engineering spiels or her mom’s heated speeches about the sorry state of the American healthcare system.

As he spoke with them, Bellamy sat down on the other side of Raven, the two immediately falling into the lighthearted bickering that defined their friendship. Seated between their friendly chatter on one side, and the forbidding wall of silence that emanated from Anya on the other as she was, Clarke suddenly felt a tad awkward, casting a look at the girl. Did she dare…?

Sure, things weren’t so frigid and awkward between them these days – Clarke could even swear that, from time to time, she’d even seen Anya crack what could be called a smile (granted, those times also usually coincided with Anya’s latest victory over her in Mario Kart, but that was neither here nor there), but it was still much easier to just _be_ when Lexa was there to act as mediator, diplomat, and occasional crisis negotiator all rolled in one. When she was inconveniently absent, like now, any attempt at conversation tended to fizzle and die, both girls just staring at each other awkwardly or the interaction devolving into an insane competition, like the pancake incident a few weeks back or the race that resulted just about every time they both happened to be going down the stairs at the same time (Clarke was, secretly, insanely competitive, and Anya had a knack for triggering it without even trying).

So, no. She didn’t really _know_ Anya. Not like she did Lexa. (Her brain immediately objected at the thought, insisting that the two situations were really quite different, but she put it aside – _really_ not the time.) And even if the two things, the two _girls_ , were so very, very, different, well, she did live with Anya too, and even given the other girl’s constant surliness and prickly exterior, Clarke couldn’t help but be a bit fond of her despite herself. Absolutely terrified of her, of course, but fond, nonetheless.

Well, maybe this would be the conversational attempt that would suddenly get Anya to open up. “Great day, huh?”

Anya grunted, not bothering looking away from the field. “Tolerable.”

Clarke looked around, taking in the bright, shining sun, the nice breeze, the happy families talking and laughing all around. “Right.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, then, to Clarke’s surprise, Anya snorted. “That all you came up with, Griffin?”

“Huh?” was Clarke’s eloquent reply.

“You sat there thinking so hard I thought your brain was going to dribble out of your ears, for like two minutes. I have to say, I was expecting a bit more than your opinion of the weather.”

“I…uh….” Clarke stopped short, utterly stumped. Frankly, she’d never expected to get this far. “What did you want to talk about?”

 “My sister.”

This did not bode well. “Your…your sister?”

Anya finally looked at her, her raised brow and wry expression thoroughly unnerving. “And you.”

Clarke stared at her, speechless, before laughing, the sound only mildly hysterical. “Um…Lexa and I? What do you, uh, mean?”

Anya flatly returned her gazed, unimpressed. “Clarke. I live with you. _Both_ of you.”

“Okay…?”

“And I am not blind.”

Clarke just looked at her, willing her face to remain a reasonable shade. “I don’t…we’re not…there’s nothing to tell, Anya. Which you should know, since you _live_ with us.”

“Then why are you turning red?”

Dammit. Curse her traitorous skin. “I— because— okay, do you all have a bet going or something? What’s the deal?!”

Anya blinked. “A bet?”

 Clarke let out a frustrated breath, scrubbing her hands over her face. “Um…never mind. Look, Lexa and I are friends. Which is something I’ve been having to explain to a bizarre number of people lately. Why are _you_ bringing this up? And why now?”

Anya paused, humming thoughtfully. “I wasn’t sure, before. Also, it’s next to impossible to find you alone. My sister orbits you constantly, if you haven’t noticed, when you’re not orbiting _her_.”

“Okay, no one is _orbiting_ anyone, Anya,” Clarke protested, feeling her face warm even further. Christ, this conversation couldn’t end soon enough. “We just like spending time with each other, and you know you’re more than welcome to join whenever you—” She stopped short as another thought occurred to her. “Wait, what do you mean, you weren’t sure _before_?”

Anya smiled. At that moment, Clarke didn’t find it a particularly pleasant sight. “I, and the rest of the world, had a reasonable idea of Lexa’s status, but I was less certain about you.”

“And now…?”

Anya’s smirk widened. “Well, suffice it to say this conversation has been more than a little enlightening. Thanks, Griffin.”

Clarke gawked at her, reining in the urge to lean forward and throttle her with an effort. “What are you— oh my god, were you even _listening_ to what I was saying?!”

“Mmm,” Anya said noncommittally. “Look, Clarke, I personally don’t really care what you two do—”

“Gee, thanks.”

“—God knows it’s just about impossible to talk Lexa out of anything, anyway,” Anya continued, undeterred. “No idea how your parents feel about it, though, so you may want to figure that out before you start, I don’t know, sneaking into each other’s rooms.” She paused, frowning. “Actually, on second thought, limit the sneaking to your room, please. _Really_ don’t need to hear that.”

Clarke’s mouth worked noiselessly for a moment. “ _Anya_. You’re being— I don’t— you’re _infuriating_.”

The quirk of Anya’s lips was the only indication of her amusement. “Wow. You two really are alike.” She turned back the field, apparently regarding the conversation as just about over. “Well, whatever. Glad we’re in agreement.”

“We didn’t _agree_ about _anything_ —”

“Oh, hey, talk of the devil. There’s your flame now,” Anya smoothly interrupted, pointing.

Clarke cut herself off with a struggle, settling for a dark look before following Anya’s finger to the field to see the crowd of Arkadia girls jog out onto the grass, the crowd on the bleachers cheering as their white and light blue uniforms – Sky Crew colors – met with the grey and navy of their Azgeda High opponents.

After a moment of searching, she finally found number 16, Lexa’s wavy hair tied back into a ponytail. In the privacy of her mind, Clarke admitted to herself that Lexa looked _good_ in her uniform, had thought so since she’d first sheepishly modelled it at Abby and Jake’s insistence. It was different now, though; out of the Griffins’ kitchen and on the field, Lexa looked more than good, her entire frame, even from a distance, exuding cool confidence and command. It, Clarke thought a bit dazedly, suited her very well.

 She straightened, cupping her hands around her mouth to join in the cheering as the teams began to warm up. Suddenly, her excitement was renewed all over again as she set aside her maddening conversation with Anya. This was going to be a great game.

 

**

This was going to be a horrible game. Lexa’s nausea, far from receding, had only worsened, and it was all she could do it now to keep it together as she ran through the warm-up drills with the rest of the team.  Drills that, she might add, weren’t going particularly well. Her passes were off, her ball handling was sloppy, and she’d already missed her first shot at the goal, Harper, the goalie, shooting her a quizzical look as the ball went way wide.

God, what was the matter with her? She’d been practicing and playing for weeks now, and had felt herself improving with every drill. So now that it was for real, and in front of her family and friends, that she fell apart. Talk about pathetic.

She’d already located Anya, the Griffins, and the rest of the crew – a bit touched to see Wells had come along – in the stands, the whole group cheering and waving enthusiastically when they’d seen her looking. The sight of all of them, there to support her, had made her throat feel tight; she’d barely been to muster a weak wave, her heart clenching, when Clarke had beamed and waved wildly at her, before running to get back in line for drills, feeling even more pressure than she had previously. Oh, god. She needed to get her shit together, and fast. Those Azgeda girls, running through their drills with mechanical perfection on the other side of the field, looked like they could smell weakness from a mile off.

It was after she’d missed her second shot at the goal – this time ricocheting off the top bar and bouncing off an entirely unsuspecting Octavia’s head, if her surprised squawk was any indication – that the whistle came. “Woods! A word.” Coach Forster’s gruff voice offered no room for negotiation.  

Lexa groaned under her breath before jogging off the field, meeting him at the sidelines. “Everything okay, coach?”

He eyed her pensively. “I think I should be asking you that.”

“Uh…all good here. Couldn’t be better!” She winced. Not her best performance.

He folded his arms. “Right.”

They looked at each other for a moment, Lexa silently willing him to accept her admittedly pathetic excuse so that she could get back on the field and continue her internal meltdown in peace, until he abruptly snorted, Lexa staring in surprise as he chuckled under his breath and shook his head.

“What?”

He looked at her, amused. “Come on. Out with it.”

“Coach, seriously. I’m fine.” She wasn’t able to quite meet his gaze as she said it.

“Stubborn,” he grumbled. “Woods. Lexa. Look at me.”

She sighed and met his eyes, and he smiled again, though it seemed a bit rueful. “Stage fright?”

Lexa sagged. “Maybe a little.”

He snorted. “Nauseous?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Coach Forster chuckled. “I’ll bet. Look, Lexa…” He paused, as if trying to formulate his thoughts, rubbing the back of his head. “Don’t psyche yourself out. Everyone gets pre-game jitters – wouldn’t be a game if you didn’t. Acknowledge it, but don’t let it control you.”

She sighed miserably. “I never anticipated this. I’ve never played a real game before. I don’t know how.”

She chanced a glance at him when the silence stretched on a little too long, to see him watching her, arms folded. After a few more thoughtful moments, he said, “Would you say you’ve faced challenges before? Dealt with uncertainty, with stress?”

Some choices images of foster homes past, of loneliness, of fear, flitted unbidden through her mind. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “And yet I have a suspicion that you rose to meet the occasion.”

“I…I didn’t have a choice. The situation demanded it. I did what I had to.” She frowned. “So, what, you’re saying that it’s the same here?”

To her surprise, he smiled. “Just the opposite, actually.”

“I don’t—”

“Lexa.” He dipped his head to meet her eyes. “You’re overanalyzing this. You tried out for soccer, because you wanted to. Because you had a passion for the sport. It was your _choice_.”

She stood stock still, the words sinking into her. Her choice.

“This is something you’re doing, because you wanted to do it,” he continued, earnest. “Nothing made you come here, but yourself. Now, you’re feeling nervous, unsure of your skills. That’s to be expected. But how you choose to react is up to you.”

Lexa nodded slowly. Something in his words was resonating within her. Most of the stressful situations in her life had been imposed on her, been out of her control. But this time, she was the only one who had put herself here. What was more: she knew she had the mental fortitude to shake off whatever weird pressure was hanging over her – had done it many times in the past – but this time, she was doing it because she _wanted_ to. “Thanks, Coach. I…I feel a little better.”

He flashed her smile, clapping her on the shoulder. “Good. Good. Look, Woods – you’ve quickly made a name for yourself in practice; you’re a fine player. Remember that. Trust in what you’ve picked up, and don’t worry about the rest.”

She straightened. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Now,” he said briskly, his tone reverting to his usual no-nonsense field voice, “Get back out there. I want to see that footwork tightened up.”

She nodded firmly, before turning and running back onto the field.

Coach Forster watched after her for a moment, his face almost fond, before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to his clipboard.

 

**

“Oh god, oh god, I can’t watch.”

“Jake, will you please calm down? And for heaven’s sake, will you _please_ put down your hands?”

Abby watched, torn between amusement and exasperation, as her husband stubbornly shook his head, watching the game through his fingers. Sometimes the similarities between him and their daughter were downright eerie, although that could just be because Jake had the occasional habit of acting like a _child_. “Are you really going to watch the whole game like that?”

“Just the stressful parts.”

“Jake, you’ve been doing that the entire game.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause the whole game’s been stressful.”

She snorted. “You manage to watch Liverpool games just fine.”

“That’s different,” he said, finally lowering his hands, “Those guys are professionals. And here…that’s _Lexa_ out there, Abs.”

She softened. “I know.”

He looked back at the field, all but swelling with pride. “She playing really well, though, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Abby agreed, smiling.

And she was. After an initial few false starts during the warm-up drills – giving an early start to Jake’s game-induced stress – Lexa had found her stride, and since the starting whistle had sounded almost a half hour ago, had been running up and down the field like a girl possessed, playing with a sound balance of aggression and teamwork, passing when appropriate but never afraid to make a run on the goal when she saw an opening. Together, she and Octavia, the other forward, were making a good pair, the plays they’d drilled endlessly serving them well in real play, and together had made two shots on the goal thus far.

Still, the Azgeda team were no pushovers, giving as good as they got. The goalkeeper had managed to block both shots, and it was only thanks to Harper’s best efforts that Azgeda had no points on the board either.

Actually, they were more aggressive than either Jake or Abby would like. “That one girl, number nine, needs to back off,” Abby muttered, and Jake nodded grimly in agreement.

Number nine, a pale girl with dark hair, had been harrying Lexa the entire game, spearheading a number of dirty plays that landed just shy of penalties. She wasn’t alone; the Azgeda girls as a whole were inclined to a style of play that clearly emphasized the “offensive” aspect of offense, and though a few had earned cautions from the referees, they weren’t letting up.

The Arkadia girls, to their credit, refused to let it ruffle them unduly, and had just stepped it up. Still, the first half was quickly drawing to a close, and the lack of points on the board was clearly starting to be felt by both teams.  

Jake and Abby found themselves leaning forward as the ball was thrown back into play, Octavia quickly gaining possession of the ball and dribbling down the field at speed, managing to evade the few Azgeda midfielders that attempted to intercept. The cheers on the Arkadia side of the bleachers began to pick up as she – and, on the opposite side of the field, Lexa – neared the Azgeda goal. As the defenders began to close in on her, Octavia managed to spin away at the last moment, rearing back and arcing the ball across the field in a beautiful cross. Lexa was ready for it, and gained possession, to roars of approval on the bleachers.

With the defenders still over by Octavia – their panic at her rather alarming amount of aggression as she’d come charging down the field having temporarily overpowered the plays drilled into their heads – Lexa had a perfect shot at the goal, no one but the goalie there to stop her. She paused for a split second to size up the shot, took aim, and—

The screech of the referees’ whistles clashed with the boos of the crowd, roars of excitement shifting to outrage as that Azgeda number nine – who had been sprinting full tilt towards Lexa, hell-bent on stopping her – dove into what _would_ have been a slide tackle, except that it came from behind and sent Lexa sprawling, falling hard and her head make disturbing contact with the ground.

The Griffins surged to their feet, half the crowd with them, both foster parents feeling a sickening burst of fear at the sight of Lexa, lying motionless.

 

**

What, Lexa wondered dazedly, in the everlasting fuck had just happened. She’d just been about to take the shot, the _perfect_ shot. No other outcome could result from such a beautiful play: that perfectly aimed throw-in by Zoe, Octavia’s textbook handling down the field, and then, that cross. Lexa had never felt more ready to receive a pass, the anticipation and adrenalin burning through her, and the timing was flawless – she had a clear shot at the goal, and from the look on the keeper’s face, they both knew it. She’d taken aim, pulled her foot back—

And, well, now she seemed to be lying on the ground. Also, her nose hurt. A lot. Her face in general hurt, really, and felt a bit unpleasantly wet to boot, but it was her nose that was really working to distinguish itself. She dimly remembered her outstretched hands slipping on the wet grass when – _whatever_ – had sent her sprawling, giving way to let her face become well-acquainted with the ground below her.

Lucky her.

She could distantly hear the sounds of shouting, _angry_ shouting, belatedly identifying one of the particularly incensed voices as Octavia, and beyond the voices, the sounds of displeased booing. Hmm. Maybe it had something to do with whatever the hell had just happened.

She attempted to move her head, and was rewarded with a sharp pang of pain through her nose, and more unpleasant wetness. Okay, maybe not the best idea.

She would’ve been content to lay there, allowing the increasingly loud shouting to culminate into whatever it was going to come to, had it not been for two crucial facts: she was cripplingly, absolutely, _completely_ bull-headed, and the pain of a bloody nose and jarred head – neither the first of their kind – were not going to keep her down.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her hands under her, pushing herself up and furiously blinking away the involuntary tears that sprang to her eyes at the searing pain the movement caused. Taking a deep breath, she rolled onto her back, propping herself onto her elbows – and promptly gawked at the scene before her: Octavia, nose to nose with that obnoxious Azgeda player – Lexa thought she’d heard her teammates call her Ontari. The freshman was expressing her opinions about something, passionately, gesticulating furiously and her face contorting with more and more rage as Ontari just smirked, holding up her hands as if she didn’t have a clue what Octavia was going on about.

Ah. Suddenly, as she watched the Azgeda player’s amused smirk, combined with her unconvincing, wide-eyed look of innocence, Lexa had a much better idea of what must’ve happened just a minute previous. Ontari, that bitch.

Other Azgeda players, having been the closest, stood nearby, watching the interaction cautiously; Lexa could see the Arkadia girls fast approaching, all looking ready for blood, and the referees right behind them. Okay, time to nip this in the bud, before it spiraled any further. Lexa forced herself to sit up, pressing one hand gingerly to her nose and grimacing at the blood that quickly stained it and her jersey.

“Octavia.”

The girl just kept shouting. Lexa watched with dismay as she raised a finger, prodding the Azgeda player hard in the shoulder, and the dangerous glint that entered Ontari’s eyes.

“ _Octavia_!” Okay, _ow_. Turned out yelling with a nose in the process of gushing blood was not exactly a pain-free process.

Still, the shout had its desired effect, the freshman stopping mid-curse to look at her. Lexa couldn’t help but be a bit gratified at the way Octavia’s eyes widened as she took her in; Lexa supposed she must make a rather dramatic sight. Besides Octavia, Ontari looked at Lexa, unmoved.

“Octavia.” Lexa spoke through her hand. “Stop.”

“Oh my god, _Lexa_!” Octavia dashed to her, falling to her knees besides her and bringing a hand to her back. “Are you okay?”

“Just a bloody nose. I’ll live.”

“Lexa, that’s a ton of blood.” Octavia whirled on Ontari. “You Azgeda _bitch_ , you’ll get ejected for this!”

Ontari held up her hands again, the picture of innocence. “Gee, it was just a side tackle. You know, when you want to steal the ball? You _have_ played soccer before, right?”

Octavia growled, surging to her feet before Lexa could grab her. Mercifully, before she could do anything the team would regret, the rest of the team descended on them, Harper and Zoe grabbing Octavia even as they and rest of the Ark girls glared daggers at Ontari.

Lexa mercifully closed her eyes, letting her head drop between her knees as she dimly registered Ontari vigorously explaining herself to the skeptical referees. She _really_ didn’t have the energy to deal with anything more at that moment.

“That’s it, Woods. Just take it easy.”

She raised her head a bit at the sound of Coach Foster’s distinctive, deep voice, but he gently lowered it once more. “Keep it like that, it’ll slow the bleeding.”

She muttered something that theoretically could’ve been agreement. Forster chuckled. “Cleaned your clock pretty good, huh?”

“Didn’t even see her coming.”

His tone changed. “Yep. Saw that. You don’t worry about that, we’ll get it sorted out.”

They stayed that way for a moment, before she abruptly sighed. “Was gonna score.”

He patted her back. “Saw that too. Damn fine play, Woods. Don’t worry. There’ll be more.”

They lapsed into silence for a minute, before he tapped her head. “Alright, let’s check the bleeding.”

She raised her head, and he eyed her nose critically, remarkably unmoved by the rather macabre sight she undoubtedly made. “Mm. It’s slowed a lot. Should be fine.” He peered into her eyes. “Pupils look okay. Do you feel dizzy at all? Hit your head?”

She shook her head. “Don’t think so. My nose broke my fall.”

He snorted. “Lucky you. Alright, let’s get you up, see what the medic thinks.” He stood, before bending and carefully helping her to her feet.

“But the game—”

“The game’ll keep. Let’s just get you taken care of, huh?”

She sighed and mumbled her assent.

As they walked to the sidelines, the crowd cheering at the sight of her on her feet, he abruptly laughed lowly.

“What?”

“Looks like you may have more than just the medic checking you over.”

She followed his gaze to see Abby and Jake descending the bleachers at speed, both looking visibly alarmed, and let out a dismayed groan under her breath. Something told her she’d rather get tackled all over again than deal with the impending examination.

 

**

“Anya, let me _go_.”

“Not until you get a grip!”

“Get a _grip_? What is _wrong_ with you? Didn’t you see what just happened?!”

“You know I did.”

“And?!”

“And that’s why I’m not letting your dumbass go!”

Clarke stopped trying to shake off Anya’s hand, glaring at her. “What are you _talking_ about?”

Anya glared right back, before blowing out a breath, visibly trying to calm herself down as she let go of Clarke’s arm; behind her, Raven, Wells, and Bellamy looked on in alarm. “Look, Lexa’s fine, okay? You _saw_ her walk off the field. And anyway, this isn’t exactly her first bloody nose.”

“So, what? That means I can’t go see how she’s doing?”

“Clarke, it’s halftime. Are you really going to go crash the locker room to find her?”

Clarke huffed. “Thinking about it.” She cast a dark look at Anya. “If you’d let me get up when it had first happened, it wouldn’t be a problem! What’s your deal?!”

Anya stared, frustrated, at her for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Look, I…I know that must have been alarming for you to see—”

“Seeing Lexa being tackled from behind and then lying motionless on the ground? Uh, yeah, just a little.”

Anya ignored Clarke’s sarcasm. “—But, really. I knew it wasn’t serious. And…”

Clarke waited for a moment, and when no reply was forthcoming – Anya appearing to struggle with herself – raised her eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And…and I didn’t want her to get overwhelmed, okay?” Anya finished in a rush. She sighed again at the sight of Clarke’s visible surprise. “I know her, right? Not that you don’t—but you haven’t seen her when she’s hurt. She needs her space.”

“I wasn’t going to _do_ anything—” Clarke began, indignant, but Anya held up a forestalling hand.

“I know, I know. But look, your parents were already rushing down, and she’d already have to deal with that. Seeing you, well…” She stopped and glanced back at Raven and the boys, all of whom had been listening intently, though at her glare they cleared their throats sheepishly and began to make forced conversation amongst themselves. She looked back to Clarke, satisfied, and lowered her voice a bit. “…Look, she cares about you, okay? And you care about her, too. No arguments right now, please—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Clarke replied, her voice soft.

Anya peered at her for a moment before tipping her head in acknowledgement. “Well, anyway. I didn’t want for it to be…too much. Especially with your parents freaking out all over her.”

Clarke smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence, their anger fading and replaced with slight awkwardness. Finally, Anya cleared her throat. “Sorry for grabbing you like that. You just looked like you were about to dive off the bleachers.”

Clarke let out a slightly choked laugh. “I was about to.” She cast Anya a wry glance. “And no worries. No guarantee what’ll happen to you if you try it again, though.”

Anya held up her hands. “Duly noted.”

After a moment, Anya shot her a small smile before turning to Raven, joining in her conversation with Wells and Bellamy. Clarke sat in silence, lost her thoughts. She hadn’t been lying: the sight of Lexa just _lying_ there, face down – no matter for how short a time – had been terrifying, shaking her to the core as a series of worst-case scenarios began to flit through her mind. The idea of something terrible, something _permanent_ happening – unthinkable. Not being able to talk with Lexa at dinner? Study in the dining room together, or burn through packs or Oreos? Play chess, or video games, or watch TV, or just be in each other’s space? Her mind had shied away from the thought, refusing to consider it.

She’d practically fallen off the bleacher in relief when Lexa had stirred, but it just as quickly drained away at the sheer amount of blood on the other girl, pouring from Lexa’s nose and gruesomely staining her jersey. Objectively, she knew it was just a nose bleed, not necessarily serious, but her mind at that moment was anything but calm or rational.

When Lexa had finally risen to walk off the field, the soccer coach supporting her, Clarke had sprung to her feet, fully ready to run full tilt down the bleachers and to the sidelines, needing nothing more at that moment then to establish for herself that Lexa was fine. Her parents clearly had the same idea, though, and were moving even before she was, and Anya had quickly put any hope of her following to rest, much to her frustration. Though the worst of her frantic worry had calmed at the sight of Lexa sitting on the bench, calmly talking to the coach and Clarke’s parents and seeming mostly okay, Clarke still felt horribly shaken, a feeling that persisted even now, both teams off the field and halftime almost over.

In that moment, a realization crystallized in her mind, something that been lingering on the fringes of her thoughts for the past several weeks, coming and going at the teasing remarks by her friends, or the less teasing, more direct speeches from people like Raven, but largely remaining unacknowledged still.

It was normal, of course, to be worried for a friend, to feel concern if they got hurt, and relief when they turned out to be okay.

But this wasn’t that.

Or, it was, but with every emotion magnified and multiplied by ten. The sickening dread she’d felt when Lexa had fallen to the ground, had lied there; the palpable nausea at the sight of Lexa’s blood, so dark it was almost black; and then, so all-consuming and enormous it had been like a sudden high coursing through her veins, the relief when Lexa had walked off the field.

Clarke had been denying everything, to herself, to her friends, for going on several weeks now; at first, it had been a knee-jerk reaction, irritation that because they were close, or because of what Lexa had told her, they had to be _more_.

And then…something had changed. Not that she’d told Raven, or Wells, but she knew it had. She loved spending time with Lexa, being around Lexa; their conversations in the mornings, in the halls at Ark, their study sessions in the evening, without Clarke even realizing it, had become the best parts of her day.

But she hadn’t said anything. To her friends, or, god forbid, to Lexa. She’d barely said anything to herself. Because to say anything would needlessly complicate a situation that was going so well; she got to live with the girl who had managed, in a few short months’ time, to become one of her best friends, with no tension or complications between then. _Everything_ about this, meanwhile, was complicated. Regardless of what everyone said, she didn’t _really_ know how Lexa felt about her. And, the downside of them living together was…them _living together_. She could put aside her feelings for a moment to recognize that the Griffins were the first stable, supportive living situation the Woods sisters had had in years; she would hate herself if, ironically, she was the reason that changed.

But it was all a moot point now. Clarke could, if nothing else, admit to herself that that moment of bone-chilling fear she’d felt had made it impossible to lie to herself, or deny anything for any longer. She, as Anya had said, cared about Lexa. Was invested in the other girl’s happiness, in her success, her hopes and goals and wellbeing.

Oh, god. She had _feelings_ for Lexa. As in, romantic, non-platonic, endlessly _complicated_ feelings.

Figured that it took Lexa damn near getting concussed for her to finally admit it.

 

**

“Coach, _please_.”

“Can’t do it, Woods.” Forster didn’t even look away from the field.

Lexa resisted the urge to groan. Her nose had stopped bleeding _ages_ ago, just a faint throb remaining, she’d hydrated and changed into a clean jersey and rested and done about a million damn cognitive tests with Abby, Jake hovering anxiously in the background, until the doctor was finally satisfied that she wasn’t concussed (and even then continued to watch her like a hawk). And now, she was ready to play. She’d warmed this bench long enough.

Coach Forster disagreed. Never mind that there was only fifteen minutes left in the second half, that either team had yet to score. The removal of both Lexa and Ontari from the game – the latter officially being shown a red card a few minutes after Lexa had quit the field, much to Octavia’s righteous glee – had effectively maintained the power balance between the teams, even despite the penalty kick Ontari’s flagrant foul had garnered, frustrating both to no end.

Lexa wasn’t being arrogant when she thought that the team needed her back on the field; the forward Forster had subbed in her place was doing fine, but simply lacked the familiarity that she and Octavia had with each other, built up through weeks and weeks of drills and practice, even before the season had begun – and it showed.

“Coach, they need me out there. We can win this, and I feel fine.”

He sighed and shifted to regard her. Lexa straightened, trying to look healthy and bright-eyed and not at all like she'd been bleeding rather copiously forty minutes ago. “You sure you feel okay?”

“ _Yes_.”

He eyed her, before looking behind her. “Well, we both know neither of us have the final say.”

Lexa sagged. Behind her, Abby chuckled. “I’m not _that_ bad, Lexa.”

Lexa turned in her seat. “Dr. Griffin – I know you’re just concerned, and I appreciate it, truly, but I promise that I feel fine, and I swear I’ll tell you if I feel the least bit dizzy, but I’m good, and—”

“Lexa.”

She couldn’t stop. “And they need me out there, Dr. Griffin, _please_ —”

“ _Lexa_.”

She pressed her lips shut. Abby smiled, rounding the bench to sit by Lexa. “I’m not trying to keep you from playing, Lexa, I promise. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I am. Really.”

Abby peered at her for a moment before sighing fondly, shaking her head. “Then let’s get you back out there.”

Before she could even register what she was doing, Lexa flung her arms around Abby. “Thank you!”

Abby laughed, warmly returning the hug for a few moments before releasing her. “Good luck out there.”

Lexa just nodded, a bit embarrassed by her sudden show of affection but not regretting it at all. She met Coach Forster’s eyes – the man looked like he was suppressing a smile of his own – and stood determinedly. “Sub me in, coach.”

 

**

Clarke couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched a soccer game with this much intense focus. Granted, most of her soccer-viewing (or sports in general) took place in the den, half-watching, half-texting as she laid on the couch, her dad wildly cheering on Liverpool as they faced off against their latest opponent.

This was not that. She was leaning so far forward Anya had already had to reach out and yank her back by her shirt collar twice, lest she topple forwards and trigger an unfortunate domino effect all the way down the bleachers, and her knuckles were white as she grasped the edge of the bench in an unforgiving grip.

Because Lexa was back on the field. She’d sat out much of the second half, to Clarke’s private relief – she didn’t think she could take any more stress – but not ten minutes ago, after conferring with Clarke’s mom (Clarke, of course, had watched the interaction raptly, though to be fair she’d spent most of the second half anxiously watching Lexa instead of the game, anyway), she’d stood determinedly. Before Clarke could voice a question the soccer coach – supposedly he was called Gus? – was calling for a substitution, and within a few minutes the referee was motioning Lexa on. Clarke had watched, mouth agape, as Lexa ran on, high-fiving the substitute forward as the other girl ran off, and Octavia whooping as Lexa met her on the field.

“Hey, baby Woods is back in!”

Clarke had never appreciated Raven’s occasional habit of stating the obvious as much as she did in that moment. She needed someone to confirm just what exactly it was she was seeing. She’d whipped around to regard her father, who was looking much less surprised than she was feeling. “Dad! How can they put Lexa back in?! She was literally knocked out a half hour ago!”

Her dad had coughed, looking awkward. “Sweetheart, I told you she isn’t concussed. Your mom checked her out thoroughly. Anyway, she started asking during _halftime_ if she could be put back in…I guess they finally gave in.”

Clarke had stared at him in sheer disbelief for a moment, before throwing up her hands in disgust. “Unbelievable!”

Believable or not, Lexa had been put back in, and so, for the last ten minutes, Clarke had been watching on the literal edge of her seat as the girl – about whom she’d very recently come to terms with her feelings, as, it should be mentioned, a result of said girl getting _thrown to the ground_ and sustaining a facial injury – sprinted up and down the very same field on which all this had unfolded, contrary to all rational thought.

Unbelievable.

Still, the one part of her brain that remained relatively calm and lucid had to admit that Lexa certainly wasn’t playing as if she’d recently been hurt. She and Octavia were remarkably in sync, keeping the momentum on Arkadia’s side and putting renewed pressure on the Azgeda team, who were clearly starting to buckle under the stress of playing with one less player, and a key one at that.

Arkadia sensed the opening, and, with only five minutes left in the game, were piling on the aggression, bent on seizing the opportunity while they could. The crowd on the bleachers was going wild, cheering at the top of their lungs as the tension and excitement on the field and stands reached a fever pitch.

Clarke, for her part, was frozen to her seat, barely blinking. Azgeda had possession of the ball, their midfielders passing it back and forth as they charged down the field, the Arkadia defenders moving to intercept. Octavia, Lexa, and the Arkadia midfielders were furiously pursuing, and Clarke watched breathlessly as Lexa put on an extra burst of speed, catching up to the Azgeda player in front of her and then, to Clarke’s shocked fury, diving into a sliding tackle, sticking out her leg and managing to knock the ball away from the Azgeda player’s control.

Clarke was going to _kill_ her. Okay, yeah, it had been a perfectly legal and actually pretty well executed, and, yes, fine, unfairly attractive move on Lexa’s part, but was there a reason she was hell-bent on getting a concussion?!

Clarke’s attempt to voice her outrage to the others was promptly drowned out by the roars of approval on the Arkadia side of the bleachers as Lexa, despite momentarily losing her balance as she recovered from the tackle, managed to keep to her feet, turning and gaining possession of the ball before the Azgeda player could even register what happened.

The crowd surged to their feet as she sprinted down the field, Octavia doing the same on the opposite end as the Azgeda players, the tables turned on them, sought desperately to catch up. The Azgeda defenders, wary of this girl who had been brought down and bloodied by their team’s best player, only to come right back – and if her expression was any indication, twice as hard – moved en masse to block her as she neared the penalty box.

Her immediate path to the goal cut off, Clarke watched as Lexa wavered for a split second as she decided her plan of action – and suddenly knew with complete certainty what the girl was going to do.

Changing directions at the last moment, Lexa reared back and kicked the ball hard – not towards the goal, but parallel to it, in a high arc that abruptly reminded Clarke of that first contact she’d had with that soccer ball in the Griffins’ backyard.

The ball swooped through the air, peaking high before coming down, positioned perfectly for Octavia, who had been thundering down the field like a girl possessed to reach the penalty box, to jump up and head the ball as hard as she could.

The ball seemed to hang in the air for a moment – or maybe time had just slowed – before arcing gracefully into the goal, far above the Azgeda goalie’s reach.

The crowd erupted.

 

**

This was the best moment of Lexa’s life.

Wait, scratch that. That place was permanently taken by the first time she’d kissed Costia (or, who was she kidding; the first time Costia had kissed _her_ ), but this was a very, very close second.

All she could register was Octavia screaming and squeezing the air out of her lungs and the complete, perfect joy she felt in that moment. It pervaded her entire being without a single thing present to tarnish its purity.

It was all she was feeling two minutes later when the referees blew their whistles, sounding the end of regulation time. Arkadia – 1, Azgeda – 0.

Complete and utter joy.

Not a minute later she found herself in a dogpile of teammates, under a pile of people despite everyone’s best efforts to be careful of her head, even in the midst of their all-consuming celebration.

She couldn’t bring herself to care.

She and Octavia, after pulling themselves free and receiving an endless series of high-fives a minute later, exchanged a high-five of their own as they made their way off the field. “I think we make a pretty good team, huh, Woods?”

Lexa smiled. “We’re definitely up there.”

Octavia’s cool front crumbled as quickly as it had come, replaced with an exaggerated amount of outrage. “Up there? _Up there!?_ Bitch, we’re Ronaldo and Rooney! Rapinoe and Lloyd!” She cleared her throat at the sight of Lexa’s raised eyebrow. “Um, and by ‘bitch,’ I mean Lexa.”

Lexa held her expression for a moment before laughing. “Right. And, wow, I had no idea we’re amongst such exalted company.”

“Damn straight!”

Lexa snorted, reaching up to gingerly poke at her throbbing nose as they reached the sidelines. “Maybe we should try to get through a game without one of us bleeding before we—”

Octavia looked over at her when she stopped speaking, only to roll her eyes enormously at the sight of Lexa, frozen, as she stared at Clarke, who was standing a few feet away and looking just as intently back. When it became clear that Lexa was going to offer nothing further on the subject, or any other subject that didn’t have to do with the blonde in front of them, Octavia allowed herself to look up at the sky beseechingly – god save her from these idiots – and left to go find Bellamy and her mom and bask in her well-earned victory.

Lexa didn’t even notice her leaving, only having eyes for Clarke. She’d been so incredibly focused during the game, no room in her mind for anything unrelated to soccer, but as she took in the sight of the girl before her she wondered how she’d managed it.

“Hey.”

Not the world’s smoothest opener, but not her worst either. “Did you have a good time—”

The rest of her question was lost as Clarke surged forward, wrapping her in a tight embrace and burying her head in Lexa’s neck, her hands gripping Lexa’s jersey. Lexa didn’t hesitate to hug Clarke back, content to stay that way for as long as the other girl desired.

Suddenly, Clarke stiffened, and Lexa immediately pulled back to see the girl glaring at her, puffed up with indignant anger.

Lexa winced, reaching out beseechingly. “Listen, Clarke, before you say anything you should know I’m totally fine—”

Clarke stopped her short with a look, blue eyes blazing. “Fine? _Fine_?”

“Um, yes?” Lexa tried.

Clarke all but growled. “Did you see how much you were bleeding? And how scared I was?! And when you tried that stunt just now, side tackling that girl—”

“To be fair, it worked—”

Clarke wasn’t having it. “Were you determined to get a concussion this game? Your _first_ game, I might add? I mean, god, you could have really hurt yourself, Lexa, I can’t believe—"

 Lexa decided to take executive action, reaching out to grab Clarke’s hands. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry, okay? For scaring you, I mean. Not…so much for the side tackle.” She grinned sheepishly at Clarke’s raised brow. “I’m fine, Clarke, really. You really think your mom would’ve let me play if she had any doubt at all about that?”

Clarke remained silent for a stubborn second before sighing reluctantly. “No.”

Lexa nodded. “Right.”

They stood that way for a moment, Lexa staring earnestly at Clarke, barely realizing that she was still holding the blonde’s hands. Clarke finally raised her eyes to look at Lexa. “How’s your nose?”

“Eh, it’s fine,” Lexa said dismissively, determinedly ignoring the fierce throbbing that had renewed itself after the team’s celebratory dogpile. “Doesn’t hurt at all.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but didn’t bother calling her out. “Glad to hear it.” Her smile turned shy. “Hey…congrats. That was a really great goal.”

“It was Octavia—”

“Oh, please, Lex,” Clarke interrupted. “We both know you could’ve tried for the shot yourself. I’ve seen you practice that shot how many times, now?”

“It was a team win, Clarke,” Lexa protested, feeling herself redden. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Clarke softened. “I know. I didn’t think you’d do anything different. Not for a moment.”

She searched Lexa’s face for a moment, looking as if she wanted to say something.

“Clarke?”

Clarke smiled, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.” She leaned forward, folding Lexa into another hug. “Congratulations, Lexa.”

Lexa held on tight, too blissed out on Clarke and her victory to worry, for once, if she was coming on too strong with the girl she was crazy about.

 

**

Clarke, her arms wrapped around Lexa and in no hurry to move away, looked up over Lexa’s shoulder to see Anya watching them from the stands. As soon as their eyes met, the older girl raised a single eyebrow, the expression speaking volumes, before shaking her head and wandering off.

And one word appeared in Clarke’s mind.

_Complicated_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallelujah, Clarke has seen the light. I thought I was gonna have to write forever. 
> 
> Lots of things happening in this update, would love to hear your thoughts! Thanks as ever for reading.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute, hasn't it? I was trucking along just fine, and then bam, the election happened and I sank into a horrible pit of despair and disillusionment for some time. Eventually, though, those same emotions turned into a weird sort of motivation to finish this, as a 'fuck you' to the more backward elements of our country if nothing else. 
> 
> (On that note, fellow Americans, if I may step onto my soapbox for a moment: we all deal with things differently, but I hope that you will, however you are able, mobilize and resist through these next four years. We've come too far to let ourselves regress now, and at the hands of an immature and petty demagogue, no less.)

“Alright, honey, do we have everything?”

Clarke took a step back, hands on her hips as she cast a critical eye over the overloaded trunk of the Griffins’ beat-up, ancient Jeep, a beloved remnant of Jake’s younger days that was usually kept safely ensconced (or, as Abby would wryly put it, “hidden”) in the garage, but now backed out onto the driveway as it was prepared for their impending mission.

“Tents?”                                                        

“Tucked up against the side there.”

“Spare flashlights?”

“In the bag up front.”

Clarke hummed, going over her mental checklist. “Camp stove?”

Jake opened his mouth, just to close it a moment later, eyebrows furrowing. “Dangit. How’d you know?”

“You always put it at the bottom, with the propane tanks.”

He thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Got it. I put it on the kitchen counter yesterday to remind myself to buy more propane after work.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “And did you?”

“Er…” he trailed off, looking sheepish. “That may be as far as I got.”

She tried to look at him sternly, only to give up and break into rueful laughter. “Ugh, thanks, Dad. Now I owe Mom five bucks.”

“You two were betting on me?!”

“Your daughter was willing to give up money for your sake, Jake. I thought it was very sweet.”

They turned to see Abby approaching, holding out the boxed camping stove even as she smirked. “Forget something?”

“You bet _against_ me?” Jake returned in outrage, making no move to accept the box.

Abby rolled her eyes. “I prefer to think of it as using our seventeen years of marriage to make an informed decision.”

Jake took the box from her with a sigh, but lit up abruptly as a thought struck him. “You brought the stove, but we still don’t have any propane!” He laughed triumphantly, completely oblivious to Clarke’s furious head-shaking and “stop-while-you-still-can” gesticulations off to the side.

Abby just looked at him, then looked over her shoulder; they watched as Lexa appeared at the front door, backpack slung over her shoulder as she juggled a brand-new box of what was very clearly propane in her arms.

Jake watched Lexa approach for a long moment before letting out a groan. “How do you always do that?!”

“Don’t think about it too hard, babe. We make a good team,” she replied, smiling serenely.

He grumbled and turned to the Jeep, making room for the stove, and if her dad wasn’t a middle-aged man, Clarke would’ve described his expression very specifically as a pout, the look only disappearing when Abby snorted and tugged him over to her for a kiss.

He went willingly, and Clarke watched them for a moment before rolling her eyes at Lexa, who had approached and was now attempting to deposit the propane tank in the trunk without, as per usual, actually looking anywhere near the direction of the elder Griffins, wrapped up in their moment as they were.  Considering they were standing directly in front of the trunk, Clarke was not overly optimistic of Lexa’s chances of success. “Hey! Parents! I think you’ve hit your PDA quota for the day, don’t you?”

They held their place for a moment – Clarke could see her dad barely restraining a smirk – before parting, dissolving into laughter at Lexa’s slight blush and Clarke, deeply unimpressed.

“It’s not even eleven, honey,” Jake protested, accepting the box from a still-red Lexa as he did. “It’s hardly fair to expect such restraint from us.”

“Maybe if you two could leave acting like teenagers to, oh, I don’t know, the _actual teenagers_ —”

“Considering all three of our resident teenagers are, as far as we know, very single, I don’t think that’s a reasonable comparison, Clarke,” her mom replied, voice dry.

Clarke stared at her, mouth hanging with shock. Since when had her tragically unhip parents developed _sarcasm_? After an equally stunned silence, Jake and Lexa – who, Clarke thought sourly, was equally implicated in her mom’s little zinger – burst into laughter, Jake gleefully slapping Abby’s outstretched hand.

“And that’s one for the parents!”

Clarke huffed. “Keep this up, and this trip will get a lot less pleasant, just a heads up.”

“Aw, Clarke, don’t get mad just ‘cause we got you good.” Her dad was not especially gracious in victory. Clarke could, in less fraught moments, admit that she had possibly inherited this trait from him. “And anyway, she wasn’t _wrong_. Lexa, help me out here!”

Lexa looked between them, her lips suspiciously twitching. “I...well...Dr. Griffin does have a point.” She immediately held her hands up in surrender as Clarke wheeled on her, alight with betrayal, while the elder Griffins crowed victoriously. “I _mean_ , just that, um, Clarke, you don’t have a, er, significant other right now - which is _totally_ okay - I mean, I don’t either, which you also know, and anyway, well-”

Clarke stared at her, her outrage shifting to amused disbelief, as Lexa rambled on, digging her grave deeper as her panic at Clarke’s lack of response spiraled. This was literally the last way she’d thought she and Lexa would discuss their respective relationship statuses.

Because she _had_ thought about it. A lot. Ever since her realization at Lexa’s first game, weeks ago, barely a day had gone by when the thought hadn’t crossed her mind; it was pretty impossible for it not to, now that she couldn’t keep her mind off Lexa for overly long in general.

(It was more than a little embarrassing to realize that this wasn’t a major shift from her pre-realization thoughts, either. God, talk about oblivious. She just...couldn’t help it. Almost without realizing it, Lexa had become her best friend, her confidante, and then, more than that.)

Speaking of oblivious...she smiled at Lexa, who had shown no signs of stopping her frantic explanation. “Lex, chill. I know you were kidding.”

Lexa slumped with relief, smiling weakly. “Right. Right. And I, uh, knew that you knew that.”

“Obviously.”

Lexa’s smile turned teasing. “Of course.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Clarke feeling that odd energy that she’d become aware of in the past few weeks burn between them. God, she was hopeless. What was she going to do about this? It had been ages since that first game and she was no closer to an answer, and yet, felt like she was being painfully obvious...to everyone _except_ for the girl before her, who now returned her stare just as intently.

A cleared throat had them both jumping and looking away from each other, to where her parents were watching them, her dad smiling wryly as her mom raised her brows. “If you two are ready…?”

Clarke felt herself reddening, but, determined to not give them a single inch more, just nodded. “Uh, yes. I’ll, um, go find Anya.”

She strode off before anyone could say anything further, resisting the urge to groan as she remembered the sleeping arrangements for the night. The whole “sharing a tent” thing had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting. Like everything else in her life.

Because nothing was going to stop the Griffins’ annual pre-Thanksgiving camping trip, one of her dad’s most treasured traditions. Not even her newly realized, absolutely relentless, and endlessly complicated crush.

 

**

“So you guys really do this every year?”

Clarke suppressed a smile at the doubt in Anya’s voice; the other girl had been less than enthused when Jake had first announced the trip at dinner a few nights previous, though Clarke knew it was more at the other girl’s sadness at spending the first weekend of Thanksgiving break out in the cold woods instead of sleeping well into the afternoon in her own bed. Her dubiousness probably hadn’t been helped by the appearance of Jake’s ancient Jeep – Clarke’s future car, if the hints her mildly gleeful parents were dropping were any indication – and into whose tiny backseat the girls were now crammed as the group made their way to the nearby state park.  

Actually, the reluctance to come along had been shared by both Woods sisters, though for different reasons. Lexa, after hearing the news, had sat silently for a second, absorbing things in that quiet way she had that Clarke had grown ridiculously fond of. And then, in a move that had broken all three Griffins’ hearts, had said, “Thank you for letting us know. We’ll be sure to keep the house in good order, Mr. Griffin.”

They had all stopped short, Jake blinking at her, until Clarke found her voice. “Lexa, you’re coming _with_ us.”

Lexa had blinked right back, before glancing over at Clarke’s parents and seeing the confirming consternation there and abruptly reddening. “Um, right. Of course.”

But Clarke wasn’t done. Seriously, she knew Lexa by now, knew the girl’s solemnity and tendency towards self-sacrifice, but this was a little ridiculous. “Did you seriously think we were just gonna peace out and leave you and Anya to... _house-sit_?”

Lexa had winced, hearing the real offense in Clarke’s voice. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Cut her a little slack, Clarke,” Anya had cut in, looking highly amused by the entire exchange, “You know how she can be. Although I have to say that watching you two actually experience any amount of conflict whatsoever is kind of novel.”

They both turned on her, outraged by different parts of her comment – much to her amusement – before Clarke had ruefully sighed, deflating. “Yeah, yeah. I guess _someone_ ,” – highly un-subtle glance at Lexa – “just needs to remember that she’s a part of this family.”

She didn’t realize exactly what she’d heatedly said until a moment later, and looked over nervously to see Lexa watching her, eyes unaccountably soft, her lips curling into a small smile when Clarke made eye contact. Any thought of further comments or explanation died in her throat, and there was no telling how long the girls would’ve looked at each other had a cleared throat not caused them to hastily look up to see the entire table staring at them.

Anya, after a brief pause to roll her eyes beseechingly toward the heavens, had just smirked, and then, to Clarke’s parents’ delight, dropped her voice to a poor approximation of Lexa’s, imitating her earlier comment. “We’ll be sure to keep the house in good order, Mr. Griffin.”

“Anya!”

The rest of table had burst into laughter, Anya looking deeply pleased with herself, and when Clarke caught Lexa’s eye, she didn’t second guess the warm feeling that swept through her.

Her dad’s reply – and the innocuous press of Lexa’s thigh against her own as they rounded a corner – brought her back into the present. “Yep, every year since Clarke was old enough. Just for a night, but we get in some hiking and the outdoors. She wasn’t immediately fond of, er, nature, but she’s adjusted.”

“ _She’s_ right here, dad,” Clarke cut in wryly. “And I happen to love the outdoors, thank you very much.” She mutely shook her head at Lexa as she spoke, the other girl immediately bowing her head to hide a smile and causing Clarke’s heart to clench with the same motion. _Get it together, Griffin!_

“Is that so?” Her mom’s lack of confidence wounded her, it really did.

“Oh, yeah,” she said airily. “You know, communing with nature. Hiking. Sleeping on the ground. Can’t get enough of it.”

At that, Abby actually turned in her seat to raise an eyebrow at her, and Clarke knew that if her dad wasn’t driving he’d probably have followed suit. Reddening, she slumped back against her seat, crossing her arms. “Okay, it may not be my…first choice of activities, but I respect the tradition!”

Her mom snorted, but mercifully turned back to face the road. Anya, on the other hand, was greatly enjoying herself. “I didn’t know you _could_ hike. Wasn’t there something about avoiding moving faster than a power walk?”

Clarke drew herself up while Lexa, stuck as ever between them, let out a deep sigh, clearly resigned to the coming debate. “I’ll have you know that I am an _excellent_ hiker, and just because I avoid running doesn’t mean I _can’t_ —”

“I’m just discussing what I’ve observed, princess—”

“Oh my _god_ , we are _not_ bringing that back—“

Lexa sat back, squeezing the bridge of her nose as Clarke and Anya continued their bickering over her. This drive suddenly had gotten a lot longer.

As she did, though, she looked up to see Abby watching her in the rearview mirror, and rolling her eyes in solidarity – they had all, at this point, witnessed more of Anya and Clarke’s spars then any of them cared to count – when Lexa met her gaze. Lexa smiled back, feeling a bit lighter, before leaning back and preparing to sink into meditation as the squabbling around her continued.

 

**

The state park the Griffins favored was sprawling and beautiful, hundreds of acres of wooded hills interspersed with creeks and ponds. They had, as Jake had said, been coming here for years, the campground in the park adequately scenic and surrounded by nature – as per Jake’s needs – and supplied with running water and a public bathroom – as per Clarke’s.

Anya and Lexa took in their surroundings with interest as Jake, having checked in at the small park ranger’s office, pulled into the gravel drive adjoining the small clearing amid the trees that constituted their assigned campsite, the fire pit and picnic table completing the scene.

Jake switched off the ignition and stepped out of the Jeep, stretching dramatically and let out a deep breath. “Ah, finally. Nothing like that forest air.”

“He always gets like this,” Abby said in a mock whisper to the sisters, as they amusedly watched Jake extend his arms out to the sky, eyes closed in apparent rapture as his communing with nature continued. “Never mind that he’s spent his entire life living in big cities.”

“He’ll eventually start talking about the ills technology have brought down onto society,” Clarke added. “Don’t remind him that he’s a mechanical engineer.”

He cracked mid-stretch to glare at them good-naturedly. “There’s nothing wrong with taking a step back every now and then and reminding ourselves about the importance of living simply, ladies.”

Abby raised an eyebrow. “And that $600 espresso machine in the kitchen helps with the whole ‘living simply’ thing, I suppose?”

Anya snorted at that, and Jake let out a dramatic sigh, though his lips twitched suspiciously at the corners. “It’s all about intent, okay?”

Clarke nodded solemnly. “Right there with you, dad.”

“Good. Now, speaking of tents, whaddya say we set ours up, huh? We should get camp set up now so we can get in a reasonably long hike before dark.”

She snapped off an only mildly teasing salute, and proceeded, with Anya and Lexa’s help, to unpack the trunk of the Jeep. Once they had retrieved the tents, the next twenty minutes passed in a blur of increasing stress (Clarke), rising frustration (Anya), and near-saintly patience (Lexa) as Clarke sought to guide the two through setting up the tents, a process in which it quickly became clear that Clarke was _not_ the usual one in charge of the task; after the first tent collapsed for the third time, Anya finally snapped and, with what was for her, superhuman effort, asked Clarke through gritted teeth to go start inflating the air mattresses while she and Lexa handled the tents.

Just when it looked like Clarke, at this point equally done with the other girl, would gladly stomp off, Lexa interceded, glaring daggers at Anya and smiling encouragingly at the blonde. Her calm request for Clarke to walk through the process one more time was granted (obviously), and this time, the three managed to figure out where they had been going awry (Clarke, to her credit, graciously didn’t mention that Anya had been the one positioning her tent poles incorrectly all along).

Finally, the tents were standing on their own, and within a few more minutes they’d moved in the air mattresses Jake and Abby had inflated in the meantime (e.g. letting the motor they’d brought along handle it while they sat back and watched, gratified, as the progress of the last few months played out before them: the girls working through their differences and resolving conflict (okay, most of the credit in that area going to Lexa) to achieve a common goal, frustration shifting to teasing and finally, triumph as the three stepped back, holding their breath, to see both tents remaining upright). Most pressing tasks finally dealt with, they shouldered their day packs and, with some relief, marched off after Jake to get in their dose of nature.

 

**

“Clarke, not to rush you, but I think we’ve lost sight of your parents.”

Lexa’s tentative observation was met with a growl by the highly displeased girl next to her. “Ugh. Who the hell ever thought up hiking as a relaxing activity, anyway?! Communing with nature, my _ass_.”

Lexa chanced a glance at her, and after taking in Clarke’s sweaty, flushed face, set in a dark scowl, opted not to attempt an answer, deciding discretion was the better part of valor.  

After a moment, Clarke sighed. “Sorry, ignore me. Hiking at a 45-degree angle for over an hour pisses me off.”

Lexa smiled. “I don’t think it’s quite a 45-degree angle, Clarke—“ She caught Clarke’s wry glance, and hastily added, “But I catch your drift. It has been rather steep, hasn’t it?”

“If by ‘rather steep’ you mean we’re practically having to cling to the trail with our hands so we don’t fall off, then yes, I agree.” Clarke shot a dark look up the densely wooded trail, where her parents and Anya had disappeared around the corner a depressingly long time ago. “God, those traitors. Were my parents and your sister mountain goats in a previous life? They were practically trotting.”

Lexa couldn’t help but let out a laugh at that. “I can’t comment on your parents, but Anya _has_ reminded me of a baby goat from time to time. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Clarke paused, raising an eyebrow. “…A baby goat?”

Lexa nodded. “Have you ever seen those videos on the internet of baby goats doing, like, backflips and stuff off the other baby animals and sending them flying? And clearly just for the hell of it. They can be such _assholes_.” She spoke over Clarke’s burst of laughter, grinning. “So, yeah. Anya.”

She paused and watched shamelessly as Clarke nearly doubled over, laughing. “Oh…my god…” Eventually, she managed to right herself, wheezing. “That was amazing. That _is_ amazing. I’m never going to be able to look at her the same way again.”

“It’s provided a lot of private amusement over the years,” Lexa confirmed with a smirk. “But I have to warn you – if this ever comes out I will immediately and shamelessly deny all knowledge. And leave you to the consequences.”

Clarke let out an outraged gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Lexa replied, her deadly seriousness somewhat undermined by her poorly-suppressed smile. “You don’t know what I’m capable of, Clarke.”

“Right,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Lexa, you’re very scary and menacing. Happy?”

Lexa maintained her façade of solemnity for a moment before letting a satisfied smile take its place. “Yep.”

“Glad to hear it. And while we’re speaking about things that you’re capable of…”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“We both know you could’ve kept up with them, Lex. You don’t have to stay back and keep going at a snail’s pace with me. Really.”

Lexa didn’t say anything for a moment, before shrugging lightly. “Not a big deal, Clarke. It’s not exactly a race.”

“Uh huh,” Clarke said teasingly. “So every ten minutes when you let yourself speed up and walk a ways up and then walk back to me, and repeat that cycle three times in a row, it’s because it’s not a race?”

Lexa turned very slightly pink, but just said, “That’s right.”

Clarke just gave her a look, and she sighed. “Alright, perhaps our pace _is_ a little, er, relaxed, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I happen to enjoy your company, if you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah?”

She met Clarke’s eyes. “Yeah.”

Clarke held her gaze for a moment, before smiling a little awkwardly and looking away. “Well…good. That’s good. I mean, why wouldn’t you? I’m a goddamn delight.”

Lexa just smiled. “Channeling your inner Raven, I see.”

“As we all should, from time to time,” Clarke wryly confirmed. “And don’t tell _her_ I said that.” She paused in the middle of her laborious progress up the trail, putting her hands on her hips as she squinted into the distance, studiously not looking at Lexa. “You…you’re pretty great too, you know?”

“Not a goddamn delight?”

At that, Clarke wheeled to look at her, tension disappearing from her shoulders at Lexa’s amused smile. “I thought that was a given.”

“Still nice to hear it.”

Clarke huffed, but couldn’t quite hide her own smile. “Yeah, yeah. Hey, now that we’ve established our mutual appreciation for our mutual delightfulness, can we pause for a minute? I’m very possibly about to die.”

“A little exercise never killed anyone, Clarke,” Lexa started, but relented when Clarke shot her a pleading look. “Alright, alright.”

Clarke sank down onto an exposed, hulking tree root of one of the towering redwoods that created the massive canopy above them, letting out a breath. “Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to have to stage a faint or something.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Lexa began, affronted, but Clarke just held up a hand. “Yes, yes, I know, Lex. Now c’mon, sit down. You’re making me nervous, looming like that.”

Lexa paused for a moment, looking longingly up the trail, before sighing and joining Clarke on the root. They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the silence that pervaded the woods around them, interspersed only the sounds of nature. Clarke caught Lexa looking around her with a sort of awe and smiled. “Enjoying the scenery?”

“So much. I…I’ve always felt very drawn to the woods, to nature. I haven’t been able to spend much time in it as I’d like.”

Clarke softened. “You look very at home here. More than me, anyway. As for spending time…well, you saw how my dad was in raptures. Just say the word and I’m sure he’d be happy to arrange something.”

Yes,” Lexa said, her voice thoughtful. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

“He’d be over the moon, more accurately. I go on this trip since it means so much to him, but having someone who’s equally invested would blow his mind,” Clarke said, laughing. “You know, we haven’t talked about this much…but you and Anya…both of you just being here has done so much for us, you know?”

Lexa frowned. “Um…not really, actually. Clarke, your family has done so much for _us_. From the very beginning.”

“Any family could’ve done that, Lexa,” Clarke said, shaking her head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to cheapen anything, and I’m so happy we were the ones who were picked, but…I don’t know that we’re unique.”

She glanced at Lexa when the silence stretched on a little too long, to see the other girl staring at her, an unreadable expression on her face. “What?”

Lexa stared at her for a moment, before smiling slightly. “You have no idea, do you.”

Clarke hunched her shoulders, feeling more than a little awkward. “About…?”

“Clarke, it’s true, I suppose, that other families had the ability to do something. But you and your parents are the only ones who _did._ ”

“Lexa…”

“No, seriously,” Lexa replied, her eyes alight with the strength of her emotions. “Clarke, Anya and I…we’ve put up with so much _bullshit_ in the system.” She laughed, the sound tinged with bitterness. “When Dr. Griffin offered us this chance that night in the ER, we assumed it wouldn’t be any different, or at least not much. And…I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”

Clarke stared at her, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. It was a moment before she could find her words. “I…I’m so happy you feel that way, Lexa, seriously. But I don’t want you to feel like we’re doing you both a favor. That’s the last thing that I want.”

“Clarke—”

But Clarke wasn’t done. “You’ve brought so much life into our house, you know? You both have. It was just the three of us, and obviously, we got along fine, but now…have you seen how thrilled my dad is, having someone who naturally enjoys the same things he does, how my mom lights up when Anya show interest in her work? It’s been…nice, these past few months, not having the spotlight on me all the damn time.”

“We never wanted to affect your relationship with your parents, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly, looking down at her hands.

Clarke shook her head furiously. “You haven’t! Or, you have, sort of, but in a way that I am _absolutely okay_ with. This is a good thing. They’re happy.”

Lexa looked up. “And what about you?”

Clarke stared at her for a long moment, then let out a shaky laugh. “Me? I guess I’m not the only one without any idea, do we.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lexa…” Clarke paused, looking away for a moment. When she looked back, Lexa couldn’t stop the sharp pang in her chest at the utter sincerity in Clarke’s eyes. “You’re my best friend. You’ve brought so much into my life. You have to know that.”

Lexa’s breath caught in her throat. _Best friend_. How many of those had she had? None in recent history, certainly. Anya was there, always. But they were sisters. It was entirely different. And the way Clarke was looking at her now…she took a moment to examine the emotions swelling in her chest and just managed to suppress a wince. Yeah, definitely not sisters.

Clarke squeezed her hand gently – when had that happened? “Lexa?”

Lexa immediately forced a smile. “Clarke. Do you even have to ask? I feel the same.” _Liar_. “I value our friendship more than you know.” _Like, way,_ way _more than you know_.

Clarke returned the smile, biting her lip; Lexa was utterly caught. “Yeah?”

Lexa could only nod, rendered speechless. Were they suddenly closer? Was Clarke’s face nearer? Lexa allowed herself a glance at Clarke’s lips. Oh god, definitely closer. Like, a lot. Lexa may not have much experience in the area, but she was pretty damn sure this wasn’t typical best friend behavior. And yet...Lexa wasn’t sure if she was just projecting what she wanted to see, but Clarke wasn’t looking too perturbed about it, either. Quite the opposite, in fact…

She let her eyes slide shut, her confusion and doubt momentarily eclipsed by the tidal wave of other, more urgent emotions as she leaned in…

“Hey!”

Without any conscious effort or, indeed, even thought, Lexa flung herself away from Clarke, in a move so violent that it also, unfortunately, resulted in her falling ass over teakettle off the tree root and left her sprawled gracelessly on the ground.

She lay there for a moment, eyes closed as she tried to come to terms with this new reality, a reality in which she was laying in the dirt and there was one, highly superfluous, unwanted member present.

After a moment she opened her eyes, her worst fears instantly crystalizing into harsh certainty at the sight of Anya standing over her, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Whatcha doin’ down there, Lex?”

Lexa suppressed her first, instinctive retort, choosing instead to shoot a glance at Clarke – who, despite having managed to stay both upright and seated, was looking as flushed and caught in the act as Lexa felt – before clearing her throat and pushing herself to her feet. “Anya. You just— you just surprised me, coming out of nowhere like that.”

Anya shot her a deeply skeptical look. “Right.”

“Where are you even coming from, anyway?!” Lexa asked, trying desperately to regain some of her dignity. “I thought you went on ahead with Mr. and Dr. Griffin!”

“I did,” Anya replied, managing to imbue every syllable with the depth of her displeasure. “A half _hour_ ago. Do you know how long we’ve been cooling our heels at the vista point?! And how long a half hour is when two infuriatingly good-natured people spend it asking you to share how the beauty of nature is making you _feel_?” Anya scowled. “And they won’t even eat their sandwiches, ‘cause they’re waiting for _your_ lazy asses…which means that _I_ haven’t been able to eat my sandwich! All while you two have been too busy doing…” She shot Lexa a knowing look that had Lexa, despite herself, reddening. “…Girl talk.”

“Anya,” Clarke said, jumping up from her perch, “It’s my fault. I was going super slow, Lexa was just keeping me company.”

Anya looked at her in silence – Clarke, at the intensity of her stare, flushed herself – before turning her gaze to Lexa, who by this time had managed to bring up her expressionless mask through sheer force of will. “Keeping you company,” Anya muttered. “So that’s what they’re calling it these days.”

Before either girl could muster a reply – and god knows it wouldn’t be Lexa, who was barely keeping her cool in the face of Anya’s bewildering audaciousness in front of the no doubt baffled Clarke – Anya rolled her eyes enormously, turning on her heel. “Ugh, whatever. C’mon, losers. I’m starving, and Clarke’s parents are starting to think you both got eaten by a bear.”

She started off up the path, leaving behind an awkward silence and an entirely bowled-over duo in her wake. After a moment, Lexa chanced a glance at Clarke, to see the girl looking, well, like one would expect after barely surviving an Anya Woods steamroll. Clarke, sensing her gaze, looked back at her, and they shared a moment of mutual shell-shock.

“So…that happened,” Clarke said.

“It really did,” Lexa replied.

They turned to look at Anya’s retreating figure, and, struck by a sudden bolt of hysteria-driven hilarity, Lexa, under her breath, let out a bleat.

Clarke stiffened, before dissolving into helpless, snorting laughter; Lexa could only hold on for a moment before joining her.

They were showing no signs of letting up – the image of angry baby goat Anya backflipping off them too potent – when Anya paused, turning back to regard them. Her clearly displeased expression had them clapping hands over their mouths and starting off after her – but every now and then a muffled laugh managed to leak through.

Anya’s untimely appearance and their shared hilarity managed to distract them for the rest of the hike and negate any possible awkwardness, but neither of them were going to forget their moment by the tree – or what it possibly meant – anytime soon.

 

**

The view at the vista point, as it turned out, was lovely enough that Abby and Jake could hardly be blamed for trying to get Anya to open up about whatever feelings it surely must be inspiring within her.

Clarke, who had seen it before, hardly took a moment to survey the scene before plopping down in an exhausted, moaning heap next to her parents, who, accustomed to her dramatics as they were, scarcely paused in their conversation to rib her for her slow pace; Jake gave her a fond pat on the head before turning to see how Lexa was taking it in. 

They were gratified to see Lexa clearly awed by the sight afforded by their vantage point: the miles and miles of forested hills rolling out for as far as the eye could see, the clear blue sky, and, far off in the east, the vaguest indication of the coastline.

Eventually, Anya interrupted her impressed study of the view to demand Lexa sit down with the rest of them and eat, and, realizing she was rather hungry – in her paced progress with Clarke, she’d done quite a lot of extra walking – did just that.

When sandwiches were polished off and bag of chips entirely emptied, the group prepared to depart, as sunset was fast approaching and no one wanted to be stuck in the forest once the light was gone. Having secured a few photos of their hiking success (a selfie, courtesy of Clarke, and a more conventional group photo, courtesy another hiker sharing the spot), they set off, making far better time now that they were going downhill (to Clarke’s relief).

By the time they returned to camp, only the last vestiges of the sunset still streaked through the sky, and Jake wasted no time in prepping the charcoal grill, while Abby directed the girls in properly building a fire. Soon enough, they were seated around the fire pit, the only illumination coming from the propane lantern on the picnic table and the weaker light of the flames, which, though somewhat-haphazardly constructed, burned merrily just the same (though some of the credit for that had to be given to Anya’s somewhat worrying affinity for lighter fluid). They inhaled their burgers about as fast as Jake could get them off the grill – something about the hiking and being outdoors had made everyone ravenous – but even then, Jake only let everyone’s stomachs settle for a few minutes before, grinning mischievously, retrieving the bag full of s’mores ingredients he’d stuffed into the back of the food locker, far from prying eyes.

Clarke had cheered, of course – dessert, as everyone knew, occupied a different part of the stomach than regular food – and promptly cajoled Anya and Lexa into joining her, although both were looking uncomfortably full. Still, a sly suggestion from Clarke to Anya that she wouldn’t be able to keep up had its desired effect – Anya immediately puffed up as Lexa rolled her eyes – and the process was promptly underway, Clarke and Jake advising on the finer points of marshmallow roasting (Clarke advocating strongly for the quick and dirty ‘light your marshmallow on fire until it’s charred to a crisp’ approach, Jake – shaking his head through Clarke’s entire speech – for the slower-but-ultimately-more-satisfying ‘slow cooker’ method, an approach that won everyone over after Abby gave her endorsement, much to Clarke’s dismay) as everyone roasted, assembled, and ate with increasingly sticky fingers until no one really could move. (The final tally – kept by a very determine Clarke – was Abby and Lexa at two apiece, Jake at an impressive four, and Clarke and Anya reaching six each until an alarmed Abby cut them off.)

Finally, after Jake and Abby had exhausted their supply of campfire stories –both utterly failing to scare either of the entirely unflappable sisters – and the fire had burned down to mostly embers, Jake rose upon noticing Lexa’s fourth yawn, clapping his hands together authoritatively. “Alright, folks, I think it’s about time to close up shop – if we wait any longer, Anya will have to carry Lexa into the tent.”

Lexa’s eyes, which been slipping shut, sprang open, and she attempted a weak protest, though everyone was already laughing too much for it to have any real effect. With a grumble, she rose to her feet, everyone else following a beat later. As much as everyone would’ve liked to slip straight into their sleeping bags, there were a few more tasks that had to be done, and after a shared glance at each other and then the motley crew of drowsy girls before them, Abby and Jake began to rally the masses.

 

“Dad, is there a reason we have to do this _now_?”

“You know there is, sweetheart,” Jake replied with typical patience. “I don’t know about you, but I prefer my campsite and trash bags wildlife- _free_. Especially when I’m sleeping. That may just be a personal preference, though.”

Clarke huffed in annoyance, her breath misting in the cold air, and hoisted her trash bag over her shoulder. “And did you really need me to come? It’s freezing, and there’s only two trash bags.”

“Jeez, kiddo, maybe I just wanted some company,” her dad replied, looking vaguely affronted. “Anya and Lexa are helping your mom clean up back at camp.”

Clarke, to her credit, had the grace to look mildly ashamed, and said nothing further until they reached the public trash bins by the restrooms. As they sorted the trash in the dim illumination of the lone street light, Jake cleared his throat.

“So…have a good time today?”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah, actually. It was fun, having Lexa and Anya with us.”

“It was,” he replied. “It was nice of Lexa to come along with you, on the hike.”

“Yeah, she was super patient.”

He hummed in agreement, and then after a moment, said, “Seems like you two are getting pretty close, huh?”

Clarke paused mid-reach for the trash can, stilled both by the odd tone of his voice and that moment by the tree she’d been studiously _not_ thinking about flashing through her mind. “Um…yeah, I’d say so. She’s— she’s a really kind person. I like her a lot.”

“I do too.” He paused for another long moment, then said, his voice hesitant and soft, “Clarke, is there anything you want to tell me? About…Lexa?”

Clarke stopped short, turning fully to look at him, to see him already watching her, looking serious and yet deeply gentle. “I— dad, what—?”

He just looked at her, and after a second she looked down to stare at her hands, still tightly gripping the trash bag. “I…don’t know. Nothing right now, not really. But…” She forced herself to make eye contact with him. “I think there could be.”

Her dad searched her eyes and then, to her enormous relief, pulled her into a tight hug. She released the breath she didn’t even know she was holding, wrapping her arms around him and closing her eyes. Uncertainty coursed through her still, but the gesture conveyed so much comfort and support that her immediate fear was quieted; as always, her dad seemed to know what she needed even before she did.

After a moment, he released her, but continued to hold her shoulders in a comforting grip, looking at her intently. “Clarke, listen to me. First, I want to thank you for trusting me with that. That was very brave. And I want you to know that you have absolutely nothing to worry about in telling me. You have my and your mom’s support and love unconditionally. Alright?”

He waited for her nod before smiling and leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good. And…well…look, honey, if we can be real for a moment: your mother and I aren’t exactly blind.”

Clarke blinked at him, once, twice. His smile remained the same, but it wasn’t until she saw the amused glint in his eyes that she let out an outraged squawk. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?!”

“It means,” he said through unrepentant laughter, “That we are living in the same house as you, as _both_ of you, and are fully aware of the goings on occurring between our charges, thank you very much!”

“Wow,” she said flatly. “Well joke’s on you, _dad_ , since I barely know what’s going on between us myself.”

It was his turn to blink at her, before laughing all over again, although this time the sound was more confused than anything else. “Clarke, you’re kidding, right? She looks at you like you hung the moon. And you, her.”

She reddened despite herself, unsure of what to say to that. He just chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose you’ll figure it out.” He cleared his throat, straightening. “I do want to say one more thing on this subject, though, then I promise I’ll drop it. I know you, and know you’re a good person, responsible and good intentioned, and that you’re still trying to figure this all out. That’s normal, at your age.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at him, entirely unsure where he was going with this. Seeing it, he sighed before plowing ahead: “I meant it when I said that your mom and I like Lexa, and care for her. Which is why I have to remind you that, before anything else, honey, she’s our foster child, and in our care. Our house has to remain a space where she and Anya feel safe and comfortable.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he was ahead of her: “I know, I _know_ that you would never do anything to jeopardize that, that you want what’s best for her. Which is why I’m not saying anything in regards to what you can or can’t do – but I _do_ want you to remain conscious of this and remember what I said. Deal?”

She was silent for a moment, digesting his words, before nodding. “Deal.”

He grinned, slinging an arm over her shoulders. “Great. I’m glad we talked about this. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m _freezing_.”

 “Me, too,” she said, laughing. “You were in the zone, though, so I sucked it up.”

He snorted. “Smartass.”

 

**

By the time they returned to camp – their impromptu heart-to-heart turning their quick trip into a rather extended one – the fire was long put out, just cloud of smoke lingering in the air, and the food and crockery closed safely away in the food locker, far from the reach of curious or hungry raccoons or other sundry wildlife.

The human inhabitants of the camp, too, had just about closed shop for the night, Abby already ensconced in the two-person tent she and Jake were sharing and the Woods sisters slipping into their sleeping bags in the three-person tent they were sharing with Clarke.

Bidding her father goodnight, Clarke approached her tent a little nervously, toeing off her hiking boots and slipping gingerly inside, to see the girls already in their sleeping bags, Anya off to the side and Lexa – who, though mostly asleep, cracked an eye and smiled at Clarke, wishing her a sleepy ‘good night’ – in the middle. Of course. The tent, always providing more than enough room in the nights she’d shared it with her parents, suddenly seemed a lot smaller.

Oh, for god’s sake. _Grow up, Griffin_. Clarke rolled her eyes, annoyed at herself, and crept over to Lexa’s opposite side, slipping into her sleeping bag. Then, unable to stop herself, she rolled onto her side, looking at Lexa – and furiously pushing down the mental voice that told her to stop being creepy – as the day’s events ran through her head. Her long hike with Lexa. And then, that moment by the tree. Clarke couldn’t lie to herself. For a moment there, it had seemed very much like she was about to kiss Lexa. And, even more astonishingly – Lexa seemed like she was going to kiss her _back_.

She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or pissed that Anya had showed up when she did.

And just now…that conversation with her dad. He’d been so kind, said all the things she’d hoped he would in a discussion like this – and she couldn’t even fault him for his reminder, since it was something she’d worried about so often herself.

She didn’t know what she was going to do, but as she looked at Lexa, laying just a few inches from her, it seemed clearer than ever that she wasn’t going to be able to keep this to herself for much longer.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Those baby goat videos are real, and they are amazing. (Don't ask how long I spent on, um, research.)
> 
> 2\. I firmly believe that Clarke, was she not in a post-apocalypse hellscape fighting for survival, would absolutely loathe nature and the outdoors. Fight me.
> 
> 3\. Americans - Happy Thanksgiving! May you be surrounded by loved ones and enjoy your inevitable food coma.
> 
> 4\. Thanks as ever for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! So I realized as I writing this that the intervals between updates have lengthened to the point that the time periods in the chapters are starting to line up with time back here in RL lol. Entirely unintended, I assure you. Another result of the longer wait times is that I will not, obviously, be hitting my original goal of finishing this story by the end of 2016. Alas. But know that I fully plan to see this story through...and hopefully well before the end of 2017 ;D
> 
> With that, merry Christmas, happy new year, and happy holidays to you all! Enjoy.

 

The weeks began to flash by following the Griffins’ annual Thanksgiving camping trip – the speed-up eagerly welcomed by Arkadia students feverishly counting down the days until winter break and two whole weeks of freedom – but they brought with them the usual barrage of essays, tests, and projects schools enjoyed heaping on their pupils before releasing them for any amount of time.

Lexa and Clarke were not immune to the onslaught, the former juggling the last of soccer season and intensified classes and the latter neck deep in finishing up pieces for her advanced art classes; with school demanding almost all of their free time, their continued confusion over their feelings and where they stood with each other – their moment in the woods notwithstanding – was put on the back burner out of sheer necessity. Even if they’d wanted to confront the ever-building tension between them – and god knows they did – they just weren’t in the same _space_ long enough to make it happen, with both of them either in class, or, in Lexa’s case, on the field or studying with Bellamy as they desperately sought to make heads or tails of their chemistry class, or, for Clarke, in the studio at Ark or studying at Grounder’s with Raven.

Clarke, for her part, was just trying to survive until the break, the thought of Christmas and an extended stay in her bed the only things keeping her going. By the second week of December, though, even these usually sure-fire methods of self-encouragement (she did, after all, really love Christmas, and _really_ love her bed) were faltering in the face of her overwhelming stress; with her semester portfolio due in a week, and her final, grade-dependent piece currently existing only in her head – and vaguely at that – she was, even she could admit, not an overly fun person to be around.  

As she was currently proving all over again.

“God _damn_ it!”

Raven didn’t even look up from her textbook. “Can I help you, Clarke?”

Clarke threw her pencil on the table in disgust before glaring down at her sketchbook. “No, ‘cause no one can help a _complete_ and _utter_ lack of ability.” She tore out the page she’d been working on as she spoke, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it – rather dramatically – to the ground, where it joined at least three of its equally abused fellows around Clarke’s and Raven’s feet.

At the light sound of the wadded up paper hitting the ground, Raven finally looked up, glancing first at Clarke’s dark scowl and then under the table. “You’re picking those up, right? ‘Cause I know Niylah has the hots for you and all, but I dunno if that extends to supporting the whole ‘suffering artist’ thing you’re trying on. And I had to fight off some freshmen for this table, you _know_ Grounder’s is like the friggin’ Hunger Games this time of year.”

Clarke held her glare for a moment – Raven returning it flatly like a champ – before abruptly deflating. “Ugh, god, yeah, obviously.” The rest of Raven’s comment hit her. “And Niylah does not have...the _hots_ for me, Raven. We’re in the same Spanish class, and her shifts here line up a lot with my study schedule, that’s all.”

Raven just looked at her, before nodding at the counter. “You sure about that?”

Clark warily followed her gaze to see Niylah watching them, in what Clarke supposed was meant to be a surreptitious manner, though the already feeble attempt dropped completely at Clarke’s attention, the barista instead beaming and waving feverishly at her. Clarke managed a weak smile in return, before turning to face Raven again, her expression morphing into a grimace before disappearing entirely as she let out a disgruntled groan and buried her head in her arms atop the table.

Raven let out a sigh before reaching over and patting Clarke on the head, smiling encouragingly over her at the now-alarmed Niylah even as she said, “Aw, Clarkie, it’s not so bad. You may be the most oblivious person I’ve ever met, and currently confronting a complete and utter lack of ability, but at least Niylah will keep us in endless free coffee for the rest of finals–”

Clarke jerked her head up, mouth dropped open in outrage, only to see Raven failing to suppress a shameless smirk. Her shoulders lowered, and she rolled her eyes as she said, “You can be kind of a bitch sometimes, you know that, right?”

Raven shrugged, entirely unruffled. “Yeah. You too.”

They looked at each other for a moment, before the tension snapped and they dissolved into laughter, the joke an old one between them, and one only friends with years of history and mutual knowledge and acceptance of the other’s flaws could enjoy.

When they’d managed to get a hold of themselves, Clarke – after turning to shoot a more genuine smile at Niylah, feeling a bit guilty – sat back, letting out a long breath. “Oh, god, I needed that. I mean, I’m still screwed, but I needed that.”

Raven hummed sympathetically as she drained the cold dregs of her cappuccino, making a face at the remnants as she set aside the cup. “Why’s this project giving you so much trouble, anyway? Usually you have like five different ideas as soon as they assign something.”

“Hell if I know. Everything I try to get down on paper is garbage, just coming out all wrong. This is the _worst_.”

Raven suppressed an eye-roll with effort – Clarke, bless her heart, could be ridiculously melodramatic – before continuing. “What’s the assignment, anyway?”

Clarke let out a sigh. “Portraits.”

“Portraits? That should be easy, right? Like, you know people. Draw one.”

“I wish it was that easy.”

“Isn’t it? I mean, damn, Griffin, you have a model across the table from you, as we speak.” Raven swept a hand over herself, adding a tad unnecessarily, “Me.”

“I’ve drawn you tons of times, Raven,” Clarke said, smiling. “And in any case, I don’t think I could do you, um, justice.”

Raven narrowed her eyes at her – Clarke looked back innocently – before snorting. “True. You never get my jawline right. It’s a crime.”

“Well, while we’re on the topic,” Clarke said thoughtfully, though her twitching lips belied her seriousness, “I could always ask Anya to sit for me, I mean we all know you’re a fan of _her_ bone structure.”

Raven just rolled her eyes as Clarke wiggled her eyebrows furiously, though there was no denying the way she reddened. “Get over it, Griffin. We’re just friends.”

“Um, considering she didn’t immediately plunge her fist into your rib cage to retrieve and dine upon your beating heart when you called her ‘cheekbones,’ I find that hard to believe.”

“Okay, first, _weird_ , C, like, deeply. Second, why, is that what would happen to you?”

“Dunno, I’m too scared to find out.” Clarke pointed an accusing finger at her. “And don’t think I didn’t see how you just tried to change the subject.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” She swiftly talked over Clarke’s protest, bending to retrieve one of the rejected drafts crumpled at their feet. “Anyway, what’s so bad about these drafts that you’re doing the whole groan-and-rip-out thing for every one?”

“Raven, wait—”

But Raven had already smoothed out the paper, and was staring down at it in silence; Clarke’s outstretched hand hovered, frozen, above the table as the other girl took in the numerous small sketches that littered the page, unmistakably documenting the same profile, jawline, and eyes again and again.

“Woah.”

Clarke’s hand closed into a fist, before she sighed and pulled back. “Raven…”

“No, like, _woah_. This goes beyond stage one obliviousness and straight to stage ten pining, Clarke.”

 “It’s not—”

“You _told_ me about your big inner revelation at Lexa’s first game, dude. This officially qualifies as pining.”

Clarke just looked at her, so mournfully that Raven let out a short sigh, tossing the paper onto the table before rubbing her temples. “You two are gonna have to figure it out at some point. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that nothing I say is gonna speed it up. But in any case…”

“What?”

Raven gestured at the sketch. “Well, I think it’s abundantly obvious that you’ve got your subject right there. And you’re not gonna get it sitting at Grounder’s.”

“What do you mean—“

“Oh my _god_ , are you seriously gonna make me devolve into bad movie one-liners?!”

Clarke blinked at her, and Raven raised her eyes to the ceiling briefly before snorting and pulling her textbook to her. “Go get your girl, Griffin. And until then, put that sketchbook away and study something else, ‘cause you’re driving me crazy.”

 

 

**

 

“Given the above equation, find how many moles of CO2 are produced by the reaction of 6.0 mol of MgCO3.” Bellamy squinted dubiously at the worksheet in front of him, holding it out at arm’s length before bringing it close to his face, as if hopeful the words would change. “Jesus. Was that English?”

His plaintive question was met with silence, and he turned to see Lexa completely zoned out, chin propped on a hand as she stared out the window.

“Lexa.”

Nothing.

“Yo, Woods.”

Nary a blink. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed at her commitment to completely mentally departing the library. “LEXA.”

This did the trick, serving to make the librarian and the surrounding students glare ferociously at him and Lexa to jerk, her elbow sliding on the table and almost causing her to faceplant before she barely caught herself. Bellamy sat back, bemused. “Are you alive?”

“Considering you just gave me a heart attack, I’m gonna go with yes,” Lexa gasped, trying desperately to both regain her chill and a reasonable heart rate.

“Right. Where _were_ you just now?”

“Nowhere, just…just tired.”

He looked skeptically at her for a moment before shrugging, passing her the worksheet with a vague air of disgust. “I hear that. Anyway, wanna use your living brain to help me translate…whatever the hell that’s saying?”

She took it, scanning the question. “It’s stoichiometry, Bellamy. We spent, like, three weeks on this.”

“Fucking stoich,” Bellamy muttered. “I think my mind repressed it as much as possible to survive the trauma.”

She snorted. “It’s chapter seven. See if you can tap into your locked away memories before we go any further.”

He sighed and turned to his textbook, reluctance fairly seeping from his pores. “God, I hate this shit. Where’s Raven when you need her?”

“Studying for her own classes, presumably.”

“I’ll try not to hold it against her.”

“How big of you.”

He chuckled, before letting out an almost imperceptible sigh and delving into silence as he focused on the text, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

Lexa left him to it, turning back to the worksheet with every intention to take a stab at it, fairly confident that her own recollection of the subject would give her at least a fighting chance.

As soon as she looked down at the paper, though, her good intentions dissipated as the real reason for her distraction surged back to the fore and wiped any thought of stoichiometry from her mind.

Clarke. Well, that wasn’t surprising. She could admit to herself at this point that the other girl occupied an unreasonable amount of her headspace.

But this wasn’t her regular, run-of-the-mill Clarke daydreaming. This was a special-edition, highly stressed version: last night, after dinner, Clarke had stopped Lexa in the hallway (Anya rolling her eyes enormously and brushing past them), and then, looking unaccountably hesitant – which, of course, made the feeling erupt tenfold in Lexa – asked her if she would sit for her, for her art project.

Lexa, after a moment of stunned silence as unadulterated flattery, affection, and what could only be called devotion swept through her, managed to stutter out agreement – because, of course, what else would she say? In that moment she likely would’ve hurled herself off a cliff, had that been Clarke’s request. Blame her weakness for cute girls. Especially ones with blonde hair and gender-ambiguous names and who lived across the hall from her.

Like she said. Weak.

But anyway. She agreed, Clarke beamed and thanked her, practically skipping to her room, and Lexa was left in the hallway, feeling dazed and only then wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into.

That wondering had turned to vague worry, which had then turned into very _definite_ worry, from there shifting to overt anxiety and now was well on its way to dread.

Because this situation – in which she had squarely placed herself – was also going to put her in very definite, likely solitary, contact with Clarke. Which was a problem. Not because she was suddenly unsure of her feelings, but, in fact, just the opposite; she was perfectly clear. And for once, the reason for her angst wasn’t uncertainty about how Clarke felt, either.

Okay, not _entirely_ about that. But that moment in the woods – with which she vacillated between the two extremes of determinedly not thinking about, at all, or unable to think of anything but – had cemented at least the idea of Clarke’s…attraction? She wouldn’t presume beyond that, but she couldn’t deny what she had seen on the other girl’s face.

But therein lied the problem. After the disbelieving bliss of that moment had faded a few days after, it had promptly been replaced with worry and concern (and she’d never considered herself a worrier until now, to the point where Anya just preemptively threw a pillow at her whenever she walked into their room before she could start). Because in the last few weeks, the reality of their situation had sunk in – they lived in the same house. They were…foster siblings. They lived across the _hall_ from each other, for god’s sake. She’d never looked it up, but she had an inkling this wasn’t exactly a relationship that that new social worker of theirs, Maya, would be racing to give her blessing on. And she didn’t even want to _think_ about Jake and Abby, just the merest idea of the thought causing a pulse of distress to echo through her chest.

But she also knew that she couldn’t just turn her feelings off.

And thus her thoughts had raced in these inconclusive, unsatisfying circles for days; it was just as well that finals were upon them, because – even though she felt like a jerk – it gave her an excuse for some space from Clarke, as she tried to figure this out. Not that she’d made much progress.

And now she had agreed to sit for Clarke. Together. Alone. For however long it took to draw a portrait.

At some point, she really needed to figure out why she enjoyed making things hard on herself.

“Okay, so, there’s no way you’re still thinking about stoich at this point. I’m pretty sure smoke is coming out of your ears.”

She looked up from where, she realized, she’d been staring blankly at the worksheet, pencil still poised in her hand. Bellamy was looking at her quizzically. “Dude, seriously. Is everything okay?” He cleared his throat, looking suddenly awkward. “If you…you know, want to talk about it or whatever.”

Lexa hesitated. She and Bellamy were…friends now, she supposed; a semester of shared friends, lunches and mutual chemistry suffering had assured that, and she was fond of his sarcasm and flashes of historical nerdery besides. But they had kept it light, neither indulging much in the way of deeper feelings. She wasn’t sure she wanted to start now, either, but the sincere concern in his eyes had her sighing and deciding to throw him a bone. “It’s nothing, Bellamy, not really. I just tend to…overthink things. At length.”

“Like…school things? ‘Cause I can tell you right now, you get this chemistry bullshit about a thousand times more than I do.”

She smiled despite herself. “No, not quite.”

“Ah.” His eyes lit with sudden understanding. “So…people things.” He gave her an odd look, one she wasn’t sure how to decipher. “…Girl things?”

Lexa rolled her eyes and nodded, letting him confirm whatever suspicion he’d been nursing for who knew how long. To his credit, he avoided any overt signs of victory, just smiling – okay, mildly triumphantly – and saying, “Cool.” 

“Yep.”

After a long pause, he asked, “Do I know her?”

She managed to suppress her laugh at that – she’d finally found the one member of the group more oblivious than Clarke – and shook her head. “Nope, sorry, that’s all you’re getting out of me!”

“Aw, Lexa, but we’re bonding—”

“Nice try, Blake, but the only kind of bonding you need to be learning about right now is the chemical variety.”

“But—”

Any further debate was cut off by the buzzing of Lexa’s phone, on the table between them. They both reflexively looked to it, and Lexa watched in a kind of morbid amusement as Clarke’s name filled the lock screen with a lightning-fast sequence of messages.

 

 **Clarke [4:47 PM** ] **:** So excited for tomorrow!! I have so many ideas now, I guess you inspire me

 **Clarke [4:47 PM]:** Um, in a non-creepy way. Haha. Strictly artist-muse inspiration

 **Clarke [4:48 PM]:** UMM, not that you’re my muse or anything!!

 **Clarke [4:48 PM]:** Omg I’m gonna stop now. But anyway meet me in the studio tomorrow (room 306) after practice, please, tysm :))

 **Clarke [4:48 PM]:** Don’t worry about changing or anything btw, you’ll be fine as you are! I like how you look after practice!

 **Clarke [4:49 PM]:** OMG please disregard that and also this entire conversation see you tomorrow ok great bye

 

In any other situation, Lexa would’ve been delighted, torn between affection and amusement. As it was, she slowly closed her eyes, letting her head fall into her arms as she prayed for a sinkhole to spontaneously open up under her chair and mercifully pull her down into the comforting confines of the earth, never to be seen again.

After a moment, she felt a hand awkwardly patting her shoulder, and then, Bellamy, his voice filled with barely-suppressed mirth and a dash of awkwardness. “Well, I guess I should’ve seen that coming. Stay strong, Woods. We’ve all been there.”

Lexa resisted the urge to start beating her head against the table. She was beginning to think this whole “make things hard on herself” thing was being taken a little far.

 

 

**

 

Clarke picked up her sketchbook. Put it down. Straightened it minutely. Moved the easel roughly an inch to the left. Adjusted the impressive array of pencils on the table just so. Stood up with a burst of manic energy, completing a rotation of the empty art classroom.

Finally, she forced herself to sit, blowing out a slow breath. She was nervous. Why was she nervous? It was just Lexa. She’d been with Lexa, around Lexa, _alone_ with Lexa dozens of times. It was utterly normal, practically banal.

And yet. She couldn’t deny her nerves, the odd mix of anxiety and anticipation that churned in her stomach.

Oh, who was she kidding? She knew exactly why she was nervous. This would be the first real occasion they’d be in the same room, alone, for an extended period of time since the camping trip; Lexa had been super busy in the weeks since Thanksgiving, and they hadn’t seen each other much.  

And…now she was coming to sit for Clarke. Which was completely fine and totally chill and not at all a reason to freak out.

Clarke winced as she recalled her total _lack_ of chill in her texts to Lexa yesterday; she’d practically ordered Raven to take her phone from her before she could do any further damage or alarm Lexa so deeply the girl was afraid to show up. Ugh. She’d never had any problem playing it cool with Finn or any of her previous crushes. This was different. _Lexa_ was different.

This time, the warm feeling that bloomed in her chest at the thought didn’t make her panic.

Any chance for further reflection was cut off by the sound of the door opening, and she barely had time to take a fortifying breath before turning to see Lexa in the doorway, looking around the room a bit uncertainly until her eyes fell on Clarke. Her shoulders relaxed, and she stepped inside, a small smile forming on her lips. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Clarke felt her own smile spreading across her face, with no conscious thought at all. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. Sorry I took so long – Gus had us doing extra laps after Octavia mouthed off,” Lexa said, sighing. “And then it took me forever to find this room. This school is ridiculously big – I hadn’t even _been_ to this wing.”

Clarke laughed, a tad ruefully. “You’re gonna have to take it up with the Council, I’m afraid. They do love their wings.”

Lexa waved a dismissive hand. “Not worth the effort. Never mind that the student body remains effectively the same size every year…”

“Well, I don’t know about that, I hear we got two new unexpected students this year.”

Lexa’s smile spread as she stepped closer, approaching the easel. “Oh yeah? What have you heard?”

“Oh, you know,” Clarke replied, feigning indifference. “The older one is supposedly a real badass. Not exactly a people person, but a badass.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “And the younger one?"

Clarke shrugged. “Well…she kind of comes off as a bit of a dumb jock, I’m afraid.”

She watched, biting back a smile, as Lexa’s look of indulging amusement shifted to open-mouthed outrage. “I’ll have you know I’m a very well-read jock, thank you very much.”

They held their stances for a moment before Clarke’s façade crumbled, unable to stop her teasing smile. Lexa rolled her eyes. “Very funny. But you know…” She dropped her gym bag at Clarke’s feet.

Clarke looked up at the pause – from where, she realized, she’d been approvingly scanning Lexa’s rumpled and windswept post-practice appearance – to see Lexa watching her, smirking. “…I hear that girls dig the jock thing.” Her smirk widened. “Especially after practice.”

Clarke flushed, knowing they were both thinking back to one of her more unfortunate texts from the day before. _Dammit, when did Lexa find her game?_ (Also, was it always this attractive?) “Okay, you get that one. Very smooth.”

Lexa shrugged modestly, looking more than a little pleased with herself. “I try.”

They stared at each other for a moment, a smirk still playing at the corners of Lexa’s mouth. Clarke felt that electric intensity crackle between them for the umpteenth time and cleared her throat abruptly. Really _not the time, Clarke._ “So, you ready for this?”

At the question, Lexa faltered, losing some of her bravado before straightening and clasping her hands behind her back in her de facto power pose. “Of course. Where do you want me?”

“Um…I was thinking there, by the windows. The light is really good right now.” She gestured to where she had already dragged a stool.

Lexa nodded, and after a slight hesitation, went and sat. “And how should I…”

“Right, of course,” Clarke said quickly. She took a breath – get a grip, Griffin, for god’s sake – and forced herself to look at Lexa critically, from an artist’s perspective. “So I was thinking of a three-quarter portrait, so the light can catch and illuminate one side of your face. Can you turn a little so you’re at an angle?”

Lexa obeyed, and Clarke made a few more adjustments before she was satisfied. “Okay, perfect. Um…and one last thing…”

Lexa looked at her expectantly and she sighed, frustrated with her hesitation and her silly, overwhelming feelings. “Could you let your hair down?”

“Oh! Of course.” Lexa raised a hand to where her hair was still tied up from practice, tugging out the hair tie and shaking her hair out so that it fell in its usual waves. “I hope it isn’t too messy…”

“No!” Clarke protested quickly. “I— you’re— it’s perfect.”

She immediately repressed the urge to slap herself upside the head. At this rate she’d have to show herself out.

Lexa just smiled, looking pleased, and Clarke returned it, a little hesitantly. When she realized that she was essentially standing and smiling at the other girl like a fool, she cleared her throat, turning and returning to her easel a few feet away. She took her seat, feeling a bit calmer as she went through the motions of preparing her workspace and choosing her pencil. Finally, she poked her head around the easel. “Alright. All set. Ready?”

Lexa nodded seriously. “I believe so. Is there any particular expression you wanted?”

“No, you can just…look, if that’s okay.”

It must’ve been, because Lexa said nothing, calmly looking in her direction and appearing entirely at ease.

They settled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Clarke making her first outlining strokes as she tried to learn Lexa from this perspective. She quickly realized she was enjoying herself, and for all her worry and embarrassment was glad she’d found the courage to ask Lexa in the first place; drawing Lexa was easier than any other recent project she’d attempted, the pencil always knowing where to go next, what to emphasize or soften. She moved in sure strokes, the lines slowly coming together.  

She could admit, also, that her model for the work may have had a hand in her confidence; her verbal slip-up had been entirely truthful. Lexa, sitting in three-quarter profile, the sunlight illuminating half her face and catching the shades of brown in her hair, was stunning; the intensity of her gaze, eyes greener than ever, only enhanced the picture she made.

This, she could admit, was turning out to be one of her better ideas.

Some minutes later, she chuckled a bit as she looked up at Lexa for her next review. “Lex, why do you look so stiff? You can loosen up a little, your shoulders have to be killing you.”

Lexa tensed, before slumping, looking sheepish. “Oh, I thought that’s what you wanted…”

“I _want_ you to be comfortable. It’ll be a little while yet.”

Lexa nodded, still looking a little uncomfortable. “Of course. I just, I haven’t really done this before…”

Clarke paused, putting her pencil down. “Hey, you’re doing great, okay? There’s no ‘right way’ of doing this. And I’m really happy with how it’s going so far.”

At this, Lexa relaxed, a small smile forming. “Yeah?”

Clarke returned it. “Yeah.”

Lexa nodded, and after a moment, Clarke picked up her pencil, returning to her work. She was glad she had mentioned it; Lexa had been looking more and more tense, but having been put at ease was clearly more relaxed and comfortable, shifts that Clarke was happy to be able to translate into the portrait.

Trying to keep Lexa there, and out of her head, she said, “So how was practice? Aside from the laps, I mean.”

Lexa chuckled. “It was good. It’s hard to believe this is one of the last ones. The season went by so quickly.”

“It did,” Clarke agreed. “I’m so glad you decided to try out, you know? You’re such a great player, the team has done so well this season.”

“Oh, well…you know it was a team effort, Clarke,” Lexa said, ducking her head as she reddened. “But…I have you to thank.”

“For?”

“For pushing me to practice with your dad, and then to try out. I never would have otherwise,” Lexa confessed.

Clarke paused mid-stroke, smiling to herself. “Maybe then. But I think now-Lexa would.”

Lexa hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

“ _Definitely_ ,” Clarke said. “Now that you know the devastating combination of total pushover and diehard sports fan my father is.” She leaned over, giving Lexa a knowing look as she spoke.

At that, Lexa laughed aloud, shaking her head. “Clarke! He’s not a pushover.”

“Except, he kinda is.”

“Well, if he _was_ , it’s not something to be taken advantage of.”

“Oh, Lexa," Clarke said, shaking her head. "Such a softie.”

Lexa just rolled her eyes, unconsciously raising a hand to flip her hair.

“Oh—”

Lexa froze. “What?”

Clarke paused helplessly. “Um, you sort of rearranged your hair just now, it’s not a big deal, but—”

Lexa slowly extricated her hand, looking guilty. “I totally did. I wasn’t even thinking about it, sorry, Clarke.” She paused. “I can, um, try to put it back how it was? Except, I, uh, don’t really know how that was…”

“Um, I, well—” Clarke looked between her sketch and Lexa. “I— I guess I could give it a shot? If you’re okay with that? I think I have a pretty good idea of how it was.”

Lexa swallowed, and after what seemed like an eternity, nodded. “I— yes. Go ahead, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded, putting down her pencil and slowly rising from her stool, feeling unaccountably awkward and hesitant. Such a small thing, hardly a big deal, and yet it seemed to swell with significance with every step she took, the few feet to Lexa stretching out to miles.

Lexa, for her part, watched her approach with wide eyes; Clarke watched her throat move as she swallowed again. When Clarke was close enough, Lexa nodded again, and with unsure hands she slowly reached up to Lexa’s hair.

They were both holding their breath, releasing them in slow exhales as Clarke gently slid her hands into Lexa’s waves. Clarke tried desperately to keep her cool (oh god, Lexa’s hair was even softer than it looked, and oh my god she was so close to Lexa and oh god how did Lexa even smell good after practice this was so unfair) as she tried to arrange Lexa’s hair to how it had been; Lexa was utterly frozen, as if she didn’t dare move, her eyes locked on Clarke.

Clarke, warming to her task as the – _intimacy_ – of the moment seemed less overt or at least less weird, leaned a bit in as she finished up – Lexa had a _lot_ of hair. “There, think that’s how it—” She looked down to meet Lexa’s eyes, and froze.

Lexa was staring up at her, only inches away, with so much naked emotion in her eyes – affection and devotion and _longing_ , so stark it took Clarke’s breath away. The moment stretched out, and she couldn’t look away.

She didn’t know who moved first, but the next thing she could register was Lexa, half-rising to her feet, her half leaning, her hands still in Lexa’s hair, and Lexa’s lips on hers.

Things got a little hazier after that.

Lexa was all intensity and barely-suppressed emotion, her hands trembling as they cupped Clarke’s face, her lips moving softly against Clarke’s.

There was hesitance, too, but it was so soundly buried under the wave of emotion and desire currently crashing over Clarke – this was happening, this was actually happening, she’d been thinking about it for so long and now it was actually _happening_ – as she angled her head that she couldn’t bring herself to care.

When they parted, both breathing hard, Clarke came back to herself, realizing with a flash of embarrassment that they’d managed to maneuver so that Lexa was sitting back down, Clarke standing over her, almost straddling her.

Clarke looked down at Lexa, her heart thudding in her chest and color high in her cheeks. She could hardly believe what had just happened – Lexa had kissed her, she had kissed Lexa, and it was _everything_ – barely stopping herself from raising a hand to her lips. Lexa, for her part, was sitting still, her eyes still closed as if she couldn’t bear to open them.

But open them she did, revealing only more renewed emotion, but this time with a healthy dose of apprehension, as if a single word from Clarke could bring her world tumbling down around her.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then, Clarke could hold it in no longer. She smiled.

Lexa returned the expression immediately, looking relieved but still not entirely sure of how to proceed.

Well, Clarke thought, there was an easy way to solve that problem. “Hey, Lex?”

Lexa blinked, looking for a moment as if she was trying to remember how to talk. “Yes, Clarke?”

Clarke smiled sweetly. “Your hair got messed up again.”

Lexa looked at her in pure astonishment for a moment before suddenly smiling, the smile shifting to a grin and then, by the time Clarke bent to kiss her again, a full-blown laugh.

The noise was swallowed, but Lexa didn’t seem to mind.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I had a nasty cold for much of this week, so many parts of this chapter were written under the influence of NyQuil Severe...take that how you will. 
> 
> Also, because I'm irreparably long-winded, this story has been extended to 22 chapters. Hopefully we're all okay with that.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clarke eventually gave up on getting Lexa’s hair to how it had been, as it kept managing to get hopelessly mussed up, due in large part to their newfound inability to keep their hands off each other.

It was as if the floodgates had been opened; only when Clarke realized that she had graduated from _almost_ straddling Lexa, to definitely-absolutely- _actually_ straddling Lexa, that she’d grudgingly decided they were probably moving a bit fast, and that some discussion _really_ was necessary before they lost their heads completely.

And thus, with difficulty, she pulled herself away – Lexa pulling her hands back as soon as she felt Clarke move – and placed her hands on Lexa’s shoulders to give them some space as she tried desperately to clear her head and not give into the oh-so-potent temptation to kiss Lexa all over again, now that she had confirmed her long-held suspicion that the girl was indeed quite kissable and more than happy to oblige.

They stared at each other for a second, breath coming harder than just a few minutes ago and a whole new conversation unspoken between them. Lexa opened her mouth to say something, only to think better of it and pause, her cheeks stained a pleasing shade of pink.

Well, Clarke thought, she’d had to do pretty much everything so far, no reason that trend was going to change now. With that, she forced herself to stand – Lexa making a noise that may have qualified as a whimper when she did, and then flushing even redder – walking back a few feet and dropping into a chair so that there was some very definite space between them.

They stared at each other all over again. The small part of Clarke’s mind that wasn’t awash in confusion and delight and lust noted that Lexa really was very pretty – always, but even more so after long minutes of kissing, her hair a riot and lips swollen – and okay maybe this part of her mind was more than a little lustful, too. _Get a grip, Griffin._

“So I guess—”

“Clarke, I—”

Predictably, they spoke over each other, delving into silence all over again at the other’s voice. Clarke tried again. “So, I guess…” she paused as a wave of what could only be described as hilarity swept over her. It was hard not to see the humor in the situation. They’d been dancing around each for weeks, and they both knew it. “I guess you like me, huh?”

She tried not to laugh at Lexa’s completely flabbergasted expression. “W-what?”

“I mean, I can’t say that I blame you, I—”

“I do, Clarke.”

She stopped her teasing short, her turn to be taken aback. Lexa had straightened her shoulders, her expression clearing of its momentary surprise as she gazed at Clarke now with fierce determination and utter sincerity. “I do like you. So much.”

Lexa’s declaration hung in the air between them, but before Clarke could muster a reply, Lexa was continuing, looking for all the world as if she was charging into battle, leaning forward with the intensity of her words. “And…I think you know that. Anya always says I have the world’s most visible heart eyes.” She laughed, the sound a little self-deprecating. “And I just wanted you to know, once for and all. You’re funny and gorgeous and kind and loving and the last four months have been torture because I kind of can’t stop thinking about you. And, and I don’t know what… _this_ ,” she gestured between them, “just now means, but I had to get it out before I lost my nerve all over again. And I don’t know how you feel, or what you meant by it—”

But Clarke, who had been listening to this confession with a growing tangle of emotion in her chest, couldn’t let this slide by. “ _Lexa_.”

Lexa, for once, managed to make herself pause, looking at Clarke with wide eyes.

“Lexa— how— you’re so— ugh!” Clarke threw her hands up in frustration; Lexa watched, alarmed. “Is there a reason you’re so damn noble all the time? Huh? Do you have a quota to meet or something?”

“Clarke, I—”

“No!” She pointed a finger at the other girl. “You don’t get to make a speech like that, and then, and then go on as if it was nothing! And already set it up to give me an out!”

She surged her to feet, advancing on the increasingly alarmed girl. “Listen to me! You are the most infuriating, oblivious,” — Lexa’s shoulders sagged — “patient, caring, and all-around _best_ person I’ve ever met, and if you can’t see how I feel about you—”

Clarke stopped at Lexa’s chair, her legs brushing Lexa’s knees. “—then I don’t— you know what? Fuck it.”

Before Lexa could hope to catch up to the latest swerve in Clarke’s rambling speech, Clarke was straddling her for the second time that afternoon. “I’m crazy about you, you idiot.”

With that, she brought her lips to Lexa’s, and – after a few seconds of feverish processing – Lexa, for once throwing caution to the wind, brought her arms up around Clarke, mustering more than a little enthusiasm in her response.

Lexa’s last thought before she stopped thinking altogether was to give herself a mental pat on the back. Anya gave her shit for her not-so-secret love for chick flicks, but who didn’t love a good confession?

 

It was some minutes later that Clarke came back to her senses, for the second time, realizing that they were essentially making out in the art studio, and as pleasant as it was, anyone could walk in at any time; even worse, she really did have a portrait to work on, the due date looming ever closer, and thus she had better detach herself and return to her easel, putting a healthy few feet between them.

It was easier said than done. 

(Lexa for her part, was still looking as if she wasn’t completely convinced any of this _wasn’t_ happening, and thus was content to let it continue for as long as it may. As one could imagine, this did not make her an especially helpful partner in Clarke’s efforts to restart her work; if anything, she was more loathe to separate than Clarke, if her pathetic whimper when the other girl wrested herself away was any indication.)

Miraculously, Clarke was able to return to her work, having straightened her embarrassingly rumpled clothing and tried to regain some sense of professionalism, and kept to her side of the easel long enough to make some progress, though the newly-burning intensity with which Lexa gazed at her, making her redden when she returned the gaze for too long, made the task even more difficult than it might’ve been.

The silence between them was now more charged than ever, and after the fourth time of looking over at Lexa for drawing reference, only to see Lexa already watching _her_ , Clarke couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop that.”

Lexa hardly blinked. “Stop what, Clarke?”

“Stop _looking_ at me like that.”

Okay, that was definitely a smirk. “Like what? I thought you wanted me to look at you.”

“I do, but— it’s just—” Clarke stopped, flustered, letting out a huff when Lexa’s smirk very slightly widened. “Actually? Look at me however you want it.”

Lexa’s eyes widened for a moment before she recovered. “Um, o-okay.”

Clarke just smiled at her and returned to her portrait. “I mean, you clearly see something you like, so…”

There was silence on the other side of the easel, and Clarke leaned over to see Lexa gaping at her. When they made eye contact, Clarke just winked. Lexa started, before breaking into laughter. “Smooth. Very smooth.”

Clarke graciously accepted the compliment and continued on with her work; the moment of levity had relaxed the charged atmosphere, and Clarke was thankful to see that they were still just _them_.

The relaxed mood continued until Clarke called it quits for the day, a half hour later; the light had gone, and she knew they would have to do two or three more sessions anyway.

Lexa agreeably stood, and they gathered their things in silence before heading for the door. Right before Clarke could open it and leave, though, Lexa surged forwards, taking Clarke by surprise as she dropped her gym bag and pressed Clarke to the wall, kissing her hard, the touch overflowing with pent-up emotion. Clarke gasped, her hands belatedly finding Lexa’s hips as her mind went pleasantly blank; Lexa’s unexpected taking charge of the situation was _very_ okay with her.

A moment later, Lexa pulled away slightly, her lips curling. “You were right, you know?”

“I…I was?” At that moment Clarke wasn’t sure of anything, anywhere.

“Yep.” Lexa’s smile widened. “I do like what I see.”

With that, she stepped back, leaning down to scoop up her bag before sweeping out of the room. Clarke sagged against the wall, her breath coming in gasps as she tried to get a hold of what had just happened. First, Lexa, when made confident, had game. Second, it was attractive. Very, _very_ attractive.

Her eyes fell to her sketchbook, which had fallen, forgotten, to the floor while they’d been, er, distracted.

She was beginning to think that she may be in some trouble here.

 

**

That feeling didn’t fade over the next couple of weeks.

Or any of her _other_ feelings, either. Now that everything was out in the open between her and Lexa, things had become infinitely more simple and endlessly more difficult.

They didn’t tiptoe around each other any longer, nor measure every word spoken, and could just _be_. (Clarke could also lean over and kiss her whenever she liked, which was a nice plus.) It was…nice. It was also surprising how little things had really changed between them, in how they acted with each other, which made Clarke wonder just how oblivious the two of them had been for the last few months. (Raven just snorted and shook her head so long-sufferingly Clarke thought she was better off not inquiring further. She hadn’t yet mustered the courage to raise the issue with Anya – just the thought made her break into a cold sweat.)

Still, just because they’d finally confronted the “painfully obvious,” as an uncharacteristically unmerciful Wells had put it when Clarke had finally brought herself to tell him, things weren’t exactly cut-and-dry. They were still foster siblings, and even after Clarke told Lexa about the talk she’d had with her father, that fact remained – as Lexa had kindly told her. (“I know your father means well, Clarke, and that was sweet of him to say…but things aren’t that simple.”)

Truth be told, that fact seemed to be bothering Lexa much more than it did Clarke – yeah, she knew her parents wouldn’t love the idea of two teens both dating but also living in the house, one of said teens being their daughter and the other their foster child – and that’s usually how far she got, as by this point Lexa would practically be hyperventilating at the thought of disrespecting Clarke’s parents and betraying their trust, and oh, yeah, Maya, and Clarke would have to distract her before she passed out from sheer panic.

And so they were keeping their new…whatever they were…on the DL, for the time being. Lexa had unequivocally banned anything resembling PDA in the house, much to Clarke’s dismay (hey, give her a break, she could recognize that she’d been ogling Lexa in her soccer uniform for months now and, well, it was rather nice to finally be able to _do_ something about it), and thus, unsurprisingly, their time with each other and out of the house skyrocketed.

Take, for instance, the portrait. Clarke, their, er, _distraction_ notwithstanding, had been able to make a fair amount of progress at that first sitting, and yet, having reviewed it critically and objectively afterwards, declared that two more sessions would be necessary. At _least_. Lexa had quirked a brow at her, but, as Clarke smugly noted, didn’t give a word of protest, either.

And so two more sessions were scheduled for that week and the next, and if a good half hour of each was used for things that were decidedly _not_ art, well, you wouldn’t hear either Clarke or Lexa complaining. (Although Clarke did make a mental note to give Ms. Cartwig a really nice present at the end of the year for the defilement of her classroom.)

Finally, after two sessions had turned to three, and Bellamy and Raven were sending Lexa and Clarke questioning texts about just where the hell they were all the time and if they had forgotten they had finals, Lexa had summoned the remaining scraps of her willpower and put a moratorium on further out-of-house meetings until the end of finals, for the sake of their grades if nothing else.

Despite her initial pouting, Clarke had eventually seen the sense in Lexa’s freeze, realizing in her rediscovery of her class notes that, art aside, she did have a few exams that weren’t going to be kind. The portrait was just about finished, anyway, had been since the third session (not that she’d told Lexa that), and she already knew that the last finishing touches wouldn’t come until the due date, when she always received a burst of frenetic energy and inspiration that helped her bring her pieces to a close.  

 And so, as they always did, they clawed their way through their prep and study sessions and practice tests, until finally exams came and they clawed through those, too (although Bellamy did look a little traumatized as he and Lexa stepped out of their chemistry exam).

Fall semester was over. The Woods sisters had made it through four months at Arkadia and the Griffins.’

It had been, Lexa mused, the best four months of her life.

 

**

Winter break was a welcome reprieve at the gauntlet of finals, eagerly embraced by Ark students one and all, and Clarke and Lexa were no exception.

Finally, there were no pesky academic obligations to take precedence, or overly inquisitive friends who cared far too much about each other’s educational performance.

It was just Clarke, and Lexa, and two whole weeks to themselves.

…And Anya. And Jake. And Abby.

It seemed, they realized belatedly, that the one operative aspect they had failed to take into account was that, with school removed from the equation, they would, largely, be homebound. Where Lexa’s “no PDA” rule still held firm.

Long story short, three days into the break, they were going crazy, and, worse, starting to show it – their prolonged eye contact over a game of chess in the den had apparently been heavy enough to propel Anya out of her chair and the room with a huff and disgusted glare directed at them both.

They’d stared at each other for a moment longer, before Clarke broke and they dissolved into laughter.

“Oh…oh god. We’re pathetic, aren’t we,” she finally got out after they’d recovered.

“A little bit.” Lexa grimaced. “I’m gonna have to deal with that eventually.”

“Lex, I’m a hundred percent behind you and totally support you, but please know that when you talk to Anya I will have fled the house, the city, and possibly the state.”

Lexa nodded gravely. “I understand.”

They looked down at the board, sitting semi-forgotten between them, until Clarke let out a sigh. “This is getting ridiculous. Lexa, we have to do something.”

Lexa looked up. “What did you have in mind? You know we can’t go out alone.”

Clarke looked for a moment as if she very much wanted to challenge that notion – Lexa had gotten it into her increasingly-paranoid mind that just the two of them going out would be deeply suspect – before shaking her head, exasperated. “Fine. Whatever. I have a plan.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, her lips quirking. “You’re not gonna like it…”

 

Which led them to, a day later, sitting across from Anya and Raven at the pizza place Raven had chosen, the duo currently in the process of openly laughing at them. 

“This was your idea, Clarke,” Lexa murmured.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly rolling in options,” Clarke muttered back. “The group outing with Anya, and Raven to make Anya actually come, was the only thing presenting itself.”

“How long do you think they’ll laugh? Anya is tearing up.”

“She’s _your_ sister.”

“Raven isn’t faring any better.”

“I’m sure they’ll stop any second now, since they’re just being RUDE,” Clarke replied, pitching her voice pointedly at them.

Raven wiped her eyes, her laughter dying down, before deigning to look at Clarke. “I’m sorry, you two are just too much, sitting there all serious, needing to _talk_ to us.”

Clarke’s jaw set. “And that’s funny how…?”

Raven looked at her, and then at Anya, and then, to Clarke’s displeasure, the two burst into laughter all over again. Clarke felt her eye twitch; somehow, the fact that this was the most she’d ever heard Anya laugh in one sitting just made things worse.

She opened her mouth to say something she’d probably very shortly regret, but the feeling of Lexa taking her hand under the table stilled her tongue and she looked over to see the girl smiling at her, shaking her head slightly to clearly signal it wasn’t worth it.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

They looked up to see Raven pointing at them accusingly, Anya nodding along, her arms crossed.

“Could you specify, Raven?” Lexa asked, preternaturally polite as always.

“Lexa…” Raven sighed, having the gall to massage her temples as if _she’d_ been the one getting laughed at for the past five minutes. “Look, I can appreciate what y’all are trying to do here. Really. But when you two do that silent communication thing, the need for any kind of talk is rendered moot.”

Anya nodded her agreement as Clarke gaped, knowing without looking that next to her Lexa was mirroring the expression. Raven eyed her for a moment before snorting. “Close your mouth, Clarkie, it’s not a good look for you. And…lesbihonest, considering _I’m_ the one that had to tell _you_ that Lexa liked you, and oh, yeah, you liked her, too, not sure why any of this is surprising.”

She raised an eyebrow challengingly at Clarke, who, after a tense moment, rolled her eyes. “Stop watching Pitch Perfect, dammit.”

“You’ll have to kill me first.” Raven smirked. “Oh, and one more thing…I’m assuming you two finally hooked up?”

This time she succeeded in making Lexa choke on her water, even Clarke – typically desensitized to Raven’s more outrageous remarks – reddening as she clapped Lexa on the back; Anya watched it all in silent amusement, apparently more than content to let Raven run the show. “Raven!”

Raven shrugged, utterly unruffled. “What? That’s why we’re here, right? So you two can go out without Lexa having a panic attack?”

Lexa, semi-recovered, just sent Clarke a truly pleading look, and Clarke sighed. “Down, Raven. You’re gonna kill Lexa. And…” She leaned in, a mischievous spark entering her eyes. “You’re also kinda right.”

Raven let out a whoop, holding her hand up for a high-five which was graciously received by a grinning Clarke. Lexa, meanwhile, tried very hard to not make eye contact with Anya; their talk last night – in which she’d gotten out her most abbreviated version possible of the events of the past two weeks in a deeply awkward exchange, culminating in Anya putting her in a headlock and laughing at her in the most weirdly-supportive way possible – had been more than enough for the not especially chatty pair. Anya had conveyed her support in a way only she could, while reminding her without words of the complications and potential risks of her situation. That was enough, and Lexa truly appreciated it.

That didn’t mean, however, she and Anya were going to discuss the physical details of her burgeoning relationship with Clarke; just the idea made her want to find a hole to hide in – and if she knew her sister, Anya wasn’t going to be any keener.

Clarke, perhaps noticing her mild discomfort, cleared her throat. “But anyway. We’re not _using_ you guys, this is just a win-win. We’ll all get lunch right now and hang, and then, after, we can…maybe…split up for a couple of hours then regroup!”

Lexa winced, bracing for the next round of mockery surely inbound. When there was no immediate roar of laughter, though, she cracked open an eye to see Raven and Anya looking at each other – and if she didn’t know better, she’d say they were doing some ‘silent communication’ of their own – before Raven snorted. “Yeah, okay. But _I’m_ choosing the pizza.”

 

“So what exactly do we think’s going on with Raven and Anya?”

Lexa smiled to herself as she walked down a row of bookshelves, her fingers running lightly across the spines. She wondered if Clarke was even conscious of her usage of “we.” “I…don’t really know. Those two are hard to read, especially in regards to each other. Anya and I don’t really discuss these types of things in any great detail.”

Clarke hummed thoughtfully, grabbing a book off the new arrivals stand and flipping through it. They’d been wandering through the street of shops and cafes that housed the restaurant they’d lunched, promising to regroup in an hour or two; Raven had waved them off good-naturedly before she and Anya went off to do…whatever. “Yeah, well, me neither. I’ll get it out of Raven sooner or later – I’m withholding deets about us until she spills.”

“Quid pro quo, huh?”

Clarke winked. “Something like that.”

Lexa felt the little flip in her stomach she did whenever Clarke did something like that (or just looked at her, really, but that was neither here nor there), and, after shooting a quick look at the shopkeeper (a kindly old man who sat at the register and appeared at least half-asleep), shot out a hand and caught Clarke by the wrist, reeling her in until they were both concealed by the bookshelves. Clarke went willingly, smiling knowingly at her. “Need something, Lex?”

“Yeah,” Lexa said, pushing her gently up against the shelving. “I do, actually.”

Clarke opened her mouth, no doubt to get out another one-liner, but Lexa found that she had no more banter left in her, and did what she’d been wanting desperately to do for the past week, crowding up against Clarke and slanting her mouth against the blonde’s.

If Clarke felt any offense at the interruption, she didn’t show it, winding her arms around Lexa’s neck and responding more than a little enthusiastically; the break had been a test of both their willpowers.

They stayed there for a few minutes, happy to get lost in each other, and probably would have stayed there for a few minutes more had the bell above the entrance not rang as new customers walked in, startling them apart.

Clarke giggled at the grumpy look that crossed Lexa’s face, leaning in to press a consoling kiss to her frown. “C’mon,” she whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

They sped out of the bookstore, Lexa reddening at the raised eyebrow of the shopkeeper, and upon finding themselves back out on the main street, shrugged and resumed their lazy wandering of the shops and boutiques, Clarke mindlessly swinging their entwined hands as she kept up a bright stream of chatter. Lexa watched her shamelessly, secure in the knowledge that she _could_ , and in this moment wanted nothing more than to gaze at the radiant, beaming girl walking hand-in-hand with her, and wonder what she’d done to hit upon such a stroke of luck.

“…and yeah, anyway, we never did figure out what Wells did with it— Lex? Is everything okay?”

Lexa started, realizing she really _had_ just been staring at Clarke, lost in her for-once pleasant thoughts. She shook her head, powerless to stop the soft smile forming on her lips. “You’re just…really cute, you know that?”

Clarke looked at her, mouth opening in surprise, before shaking her head, her cheeks tinting a pleasing shade of pink. “Alrighty then, weirdo.”

But she also leaned over to press a kiss to Lexa’s cheek, squeezing her hand a little tighter before starting off again, so Lexa counted it as a win.

They took their time checking out the little stores; Clarke steered Lexa into just about every art gallery she saw, and the two spent a feverish twenty minutes racing to see who could put together the most bizarre outfit at the vintage store, before they were unceremoniously asked to leave after getting caught in the dressing room, where Lexa had been enthusiastically expressing her appreciation for Clarke’s glittery 80s halter top (Lexa then spending the next ten minutes in humiliated, scarred silence while Clarke had to pause every couple of feet from laughing.

Clarke made it up to her a bit later, though, tugging her first into a Yankee Candle – and watching the automatic look of bliss spread across Lexa’s face – and then behind the store building, several candles heavier, to thoroughly kiss any lingering remnants of embarrassment away.)

Lexa couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so light. In truth, they could have gone anywhere, done anything, as just being together, by _themselves_ , was more than she could’ve hoped for to begin with – so anything past that was just bonus. Exploring the shops with Clarke, talking with her, just _watching_ her all felt enormously precious, and during those hours Lexa was able to turn off the worries and anxiety that usually hummed at a low frequency in the back of her head, and just _be_ there, with the person who, at least in the privacy of her mind, she could think of as her girl.

They were looking around an antique store, the small space absolutely crammed with baubles and knick-knacks and oddities on every available surface, when Clarke’s phone buzzed with the messages:

 **Raven [5:32 PM]:** Claaaaarke r u done making out with baby Woods yet

 **Raven [5:32 PM]:** Note to self don’t call Lexa baby Woods in this context you’ll immediately regret it

 **Raven [5:33 PM]:** Okay but ya we’re ready to go it’s been 2 hours lets blow this popsicle stand

 **Raven [5:33 PM]:** Anya’s doing that thing where she kind of just…watches random ppl. And glares. Idc but she’s scaring children

 **Raven [5:35 PM]:** Dammit woman r u sucking face as we speak?? I will not be ignored!!

Clarke rolled her eyes, slipping her phone back into her pocket. Raven could be such a drama queen sometimes. She turned back to the heavy silver photo frame she’d been inspecting, the germ of an idea taking root in her mind, but before she could get any further Lexa walked up, phone held aloft.

“Hey. You ready? Anya texted me.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “ _Anya_ texted you?” In the four plus months they’d all been together, she’d yet to receive a text from the elder Woods sister.

Lexa showed her the screen:

 **Anya [5: 34 PM]:** Come. 

Clarke snorted. “How very…Anya. Alright, yeah, let’s go.”

She placed the frame where she’d found it, making a note of the store’s name, and they headed out, Clarke feeling a whisper of regret at their little bit of time together coming to a close. A glance at Lexa confirmed the girl was feeling the same, the corners of her lips turned down, and Clarke pulled her to a stop. “Hey.”

Lexa glanced at her. “What’s up?”

“I had fun today.”

Lexa softened a bit. “Me too. It was a good plan, I’ll admit.”

“What was that?” Clarke teased. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I said, it was a good plan.”

“Damn straight!”

They delved into a silence for a moment, Clarke looking at their joined hands, until: “Hey.”

“Yes, Clarke?” Lexa, a bit more teasing this time.

“I kinda like you, you know that?”

Lexa watched her for a long moment, Clarke feeling a silly spark of anxiety, before a slow, soft smile spread across her face. “I kinda like you, too.”

“Good.” Clarke pulled Lexa to her. “’Cause if you didn’t that would make doing this a little awkward.”

Their lips met, and Lexa relaxed into the kiss, winding her arms around Clarke’s waist, one hand still clenching her bag of candles. Clarke’s lips were soft, and Lexa liked the lip gloss she wore, and, she decided a bit fuzzily, she really just liked kissing _Clarke_.

Just as she was opening her mouth to deepen the kiss – her usual deep aversion to PDA having been somewhat muted over the harsh desert of the previous week – the sound of throat clearing drew her attention. “Hey, lovebirds!”

They sprang apart, both flushing, to see Raven and Anya watching them, Raven looking amused while Anya looked, well, like Anya, though perhaps a bit more displeased than usual. “So are both of your phones not working, or have you just been, ah, otherwise engaged?”

Lexa coughed. “Um, no, Raven, we saw them. We were just heading over now.”

Raven looked skeptical. “Right.”

They all stared at each other awkwardly for a moment – Lexa once more studiously avoiding Anya’s gaze – before Raven rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, not that observing you two’s mating rituals isn’t entertaining—”

“Raven!”

“—but I gotta get back. We ready?”

Clarke and Lexa nodded, both feeling a little sheepish, and they headed to the parking lot. Clarke hung back to walk at a slower pace with Raven – Lexa, with a pang of guilt, realized her brace must be bothering her – leaving Lexa with her sister.

Lexa, after an internal pep talk to woman the hell up, made herself glance up to meet Anya’s eyes, to see her watching her, amused. “You good, sis?”

“Y-yeah,” she muttered.

Anya rolled her eyes. “I’ve already said my piece, Lex. You’re a big girl. Just…be careful, okay? The Griffins haven’t been terrible, and…I’d rather not put them in a difficult situation.”

Lexa nodded miserably. As if the same depressing thoughts hadn’t been running circles in her head for the past two weeks.

Anya looked at her for a moment, before sighing and slinging an arm around her neck. “Don’t look so depressed. You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”

“I can only hope.” And she really, really, did.

“And don’t even _think_ about sneaking Clarke into our room.”

“Anya!”

 

**

Christmas at the Griffins’ was always a festive affair, though they kept it small and intimate, saving the bigger celebrations for New Year’s a few days later, when Wells and his dad and a few others would join in. When it had just been Abby, Jake, and Clarke, Clarke had treasured the time with both her parents, all to herself – being an only child, she of course got the majority of their attention regardless, but with their busy and often conflicting work schedules, it usually tended to be one parent at a time. The holidays were a special opportunity for her to spend time with them both; even with just the three of them, it was special and perfect.

Now that Anya and Lexa had entered the picture, far from ruining the dynamic, they were only enhancing it, as far as the Griffins were concerned. Abby and Jake had accepted them as family almost as soon as they had welcomed the girls into their home. And Clarke…well, was it even necessary to detail what Clarke felt? She’d been fixated on the girls since they’d moved in (in decidedly different ways, obviously – determined to earn Anya’s respect or at least escape her derision, and frankly, at the beginning, just trying to figure out what the heck was going on with Lexa – but fixated nonetheless), and now, having recognized her feelings for Lexa for what they were, and even more amazingly, _acted_ on them (and, okay, also now harboring a soft spot for her grouchy older sister as well) – well, Clarke was more excited for her favorite holiday than she’d been in years.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, the house was in full celebration mode: lights strung up on the trees in the front lawn and above the entryway, laid delicately on the bushes, wrapped around the banister of the foyer staircase…Lexa’s tentative question to Clarke about the necessity of more, asked as Clarke carried yet another bundle of Christmas lights in her arms, no doubt marching off to illuminate what was probably the last dimly-lit corner of the house, was met with a fearsome look that had Lexa hastily backpedaling, the slightly manic glint in the blonde’s eyes reminding Lexa in that moment of nothing so much as Winona Ryder in _Stranger Things_ (she, Clarke, and Anya had marathoned it a month or so back, and though Lexa had spent most of the time having a crisis about the way Clarke’s thigh pressed into her own, some parts of the show had filtered through).

She had enough wits about her not to voice the observation aloud, though, and meekly followed Clarke to assist her in boosting the Griffins’ electricity bill through the roof.

That night, the members of the combined Griffin-Woods clan gathered in the den, sprawling on the furniture in their pajamas as they enjoyed the massive Christmas tree shining like a beacon in the corner of the room and the fire roaring away (it was hardly cold enough outside to warrant it, but everyone knew better than to dare mess with tradition – or Clarke) as they drank their eggnog (Clarke was fairly sure she’d seen Anya discreetly helping herself to a glass of the adults’ bourbon-spiked version of the drink when no one was looking, but as she’d been inspired to follow suit, she was in no place to judge – indeed, a glass and a half later, was instead feeling positively full of Christmas cheer).

They talked and cracked jokes late into the night, waiting for the grandfather clock in the foyer to signal the arrival of midnight, and Clarke caught both her parents occasionally watching the girls laugh and talk over one another and smiling softly at each other, each time causing a tangle of complicated, warm emotions to swell in her chest and threating to make a lump rise in her throat.

When the chimes finally sounded, they let out cheers and raised their glasses, Jake giving a slightly-winding but entirely heartfelt toast to Anya and Lexa and their arrival to the Griffins.’

Finally, they turned to the real business of the night, looking to the small pile of presents waiting under the Christmas tree. For the first time in their lives, Anya and Lexa had a not insignificant and steady supply of spending money coming their way every week, Jake and Abby naturally distributing the same allowance to them that they gave to Clarke, and by the time December and Christmas rolled around had more cash at their disposal then they knew what to do with, a fact that had both eased and made more difficult their purchasing of gifts.

They watched nervously as Jake retrieved their joint gift to him, and only the delighted grin forming on his face as he held up the authentic Philippe Coutinho jersey they’d gone halvsies on assuaged their worry. He pulled it on then and there, unconcerned with how odd it looked over his pajamas, sporting the Liverpool red with pride, before rising and giving them each a warm hug; both Anya and Lexa found that they rather enjoyed the contact. “Thank you, girls. I absolutely love it.”

Abby was similarly pleased at the selection of gourmet freshly-ground coffees they’d found online – the doctor drank more coffee than anyone they’d ever met, and the gift had been a natural choice – and laughed aloud at the mug they’d ordered along with it, designed to look uncannily like a prescription medication bottle.

She was really floored, though, by the comically large jar of earplugs she found at the bottom of the gift bag – Jake, for all of his good qualities, was an enormous snorer, as the girls had learned on the camping trip, leading to an inevitable slew of jokes about just why exactly she’d opted for the night shift at the ER.

After Abby had recovered from her laughter, almost falling out of her seat in the process – Jake had reacted with mock outrage, before good naturedly sticking a pair into his own ears – she’d wrapped them both into a warm embrace, pausing to drop kisses on each girl’s head before thanking them.

Clarke had been watching this whole scene unfold with great amusement – she had to give the sisters kudos, they’d taken her broad pointers and gotten pretty great gifts – before clearing her throat, politely demanding they move on to the important part of the night – meaning of course, the teens’ gifts.

This, of course, had gotten her pelted with ear plugs, but they all eventually acquiesced, the civilized unwrapping devolving into barely-controlled chaos as human bulldozer Clarke Griffin moved onto the scene and wrapping paper went everywhere. The three of them were all pleased with their gifts from Abby and Jake and each other, the more memorable highlights including one-on-one boxing lessons for Anya (Lexa barely succeeding in concealing her smirk at Anya’s very poorly hidden delight) and a Carli Lloyd jersey for Lexa.

Lexa, ever polite, didn’t comment on the apparent lack of a present for her from Clarke, though Clarke had practically tackled her with a hug that bordered on the inappropriate (the two finally disengaging after Anya’s pointed cough) for her gift of a new sketchbook and beautiful set of charcoals.

No one else seemed to notice, either, too tipsy on spiked eggnog and their own gifts and good cheer, and the party broke up soon after, Jake turning down the fire and everyone drifting off one by one as it was now well after one AM.

Clarke and Lexa trailed after Anya, slowly making their way up the stairs, laden down with presents. As they reached Clarke’s room, though, Clarke stopped Lexa with a hand on her wrist. Anya caught the motion, but other than an eye-roll and meaningful glance at Lexa, said nothing, returning to their room and closing the door.

“Clarke…we shouldn’t, your parents—“ Lexa began, but Clarke just shook her head.

“It’s not that. Well, not totally,” she teased, and Lexa felt her cheeks heat up. Still, she followed Clarke into the girl’s room, feeling the same pulse of awe and nerves and excitement she did whenever she entered Clarke’s bedroom.

Clarke carefully placed her armful of gifts onto her already overloaded desk, before crossing the room to her bed – Lexa’s heartrate automatically picking up – and patting it meaningfully. Lexa hesitated for a moment, before sitting on the edge. Clarke just smiled at her, and then Lexa’s heart just about stopped as Clarke kneeled at her feet – only to then wanting to smack herself, as Clarke just reached under the bed, retrieving a wrapped package and standing. “So…I didn’t give you anything downstairs.”

It took a second for Lexa to find her voice, still recovering from her whirlwind of clashing emotions. “N-no, Clarke, it was fine, you don’t owe me anything—”

“Oh, c’mon, Lexa, as if I wouldn’t get you something.” Clarke held out the gift, looking unaccountably nervous. “Here. I didn’t give it to you downstairs because…well, just open it.”

Lexa took the package, surprised at the unexpected weight; from the shape, it had looked a bit like a book, but clearly wasn’t. She raised her eyes to meet Clarke’s, and upon the girl’s nod slowly opened the wrapping, now feeling a bit nervous herself. She pulled the paper away, and found herself looking at the velvet back of what looked like a…picture frame?

She turned it over, and froze, her breath catching, unable to look away.

Clarke wrung her hands together anxiously, watching as Lexa stared down at the photo frame that had caught her eye – the elegant and understated silver, and, though a bit tarnished, clearly old and beautiful – at the antique store a few days ago. She’d come back for it the next day, and been pleased when the shopkeeper had been able to fulfill all her requests for the purchase.

The frame was gleaming now, freshly cleaned and polished, and, Clarke hoped, doing justice to Lexa’s photo of her, Anya, and her parents, clearly visible now that it was free of cheap plastic and cracked glass. The block letters the shopkeeper had been able to have engraved in the frame under the photo were small and understated, simply reading “The Woods Family.”

When the silence had stretched on for almost a minute, Clarke could keep quiet for no longer. “I…hope this wasn’t presumptuous of me, but I just know how important this photo is to you, and, Lexa it’s so beautiful, I thought it should be in a frame that matches it—”

Whatever she was going to say next was lost as Lexa surged unsteadily to her feet, leaning in and capturing Clarke’s lips with her own, the frame pressed between them. Clarke froze for a moment in sheer surprise, before her eyes fluttered shut and she returned the kiss.

Lexa kept it light and sweet, barely able to keep a lid on her swiftly rising emotions, before gently breaking away, resting her forehead against Clarke’s. “Thank you.”

Clarke smiled, letting out a slightly tremulous laugh. “So…you like it?”

“I _love_ it.” She pulled the frame from out between them, looking down at it. “Clarke…it’s beautiful.”

Clarke took her hand. “I’m glad you like it.”

Lexa searched her eyes, before wrapping her in a hug. Clarke easily returned the embrace, and they swayed there for a moment. “Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

“Merry Christmas, Lexa.”

Lexa buried her face in Clarke’s neck, feeling as strongly as she had any of the past four months that she was home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...

Anya and Lexa returned home from school a few days into the new semester to find not only Abby but Jake, as well, waiting for them in the den, the pair looking uncharacteristically serious. They both straightened, smiles no doubt meant to be comforting forming on their faces as soon as they saw the girls, but Lexa’s spine was already ramrod straight with tension as she stepped into the room.

She couldn’t remember the last time both Griffins had been home when they had returned from school, and between that and the way they sat so expectantly, couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm now at the break from the norm; a quick glance at Anya confirmed that her sister was equally wary. She wondered if Abby and Jake had picked today because they knew Clarke would be staying late at school.

Clarke. At the thought of the girl her insides turned to ice. Did they know? Were they angry? Was this meant to be some kind of confrontation? But surely they wouldn’t have Anya sit in as well…would they?

Or was this something else entirely? Some problem with their fostering? Maya had decided to have them transferred…or the Griffins had opted out?

As these grimmer and grimmer thoughts raced through Lexa’s head, she realized just how much her subconscious had been waiting for the other shoe to drop; she hadn’t had such a good streak in years, and, somewhere deep inside, a part of her had been just holding out for the inevitable reversal of her and her sister’s good fortunes.

She squeezed her eyes shut, as a sudden, unexpected wave of emotion – panic and regret and calm certainty – crashed over her, and it was only Anya’s quick squeeze of her hand that made her open them once more, forcing her implacable mask into place. “Mr. Griffin, Dr. Griffin. Is everything alright?”

Her expression must’ve been something to see, because both Jake and Abby’s smiles had faded as she spoke, and they exchanged a quick glance at her question before Jake sat up, forcing another bright smile into place. “Of course, of course! Please, girls, have a seat. Abby and I just wanted to have a quick chat with you.”

Lexa and Anya looked at each other – their unspoken commitment to each other, no matter what happened, communicated in that glance – and then moved to sink into the couch adjacent to Abby and Jake’s.

There was an awkward moment of silence among the four of them – Anya and Lexa certainly weren’t going to kick off the proceedings, whatever they were – before Jake cleared his throat. “First – sorry to surprise you both like this, I hope you’re not feeling too ambushed. We just wanted to speak to you both in private, check in on things.”

This vague statement did nothing to ease the sisters’ minds, and they opted to simply look at him, both well versed in waiting out prevaricating adults. He looked at Abby and then cleared his throat again, unaccountably nervous. “So, girls. We want to get a feel for how things have been going. Have you been happy here, these past few months?”

The question, unexpected for its frankness as much as its subject matter, took Lexa by surprise – whatever she’d been expecting out of this talk, her _happiness_ certainly wasn’t one of them – and it took a second for her to switch tracks. “Um…yes, certainly. We’ve been treated very well here, Mr. Griffin.” She heard the stiffness and formality in her voice, knew it was off-putting, but the part of her that had been waiting for this moment was still in control, her guard firmly up.

Jake blinked at her, before smiling suddenly, the expression filled with an understanding that made Lexa feel a bit irritated but also strangely known. “Well, I’m glad to hear it, but…that’s not quite what I asked.” He leaned forward, his earnest expression painfully reminiscent of Clarke’s. “Are you _happy_ here?”

This time, her pause was the result of her effort to give him a sincere answer; she owed him that much. When she spoke, her voice was softer, and had lost some of its previous hard edges. “We’ve…I’ve been very happy here, Mr. Griffin. I _am_ happy here. You and Dr. Griffin, and, um, everyone,” she tried hard not to redden, “have gone out of your way to be welcoming, and have shown us a great deal of respect and patience. We haven’t…” To her horror, she realized her eyes were burning, but she forced herself on. “We don’t always get that, and rarely all at the same time. So, yes. And I think Anya would agree.” Lexa neatly passed the ball to Anya, not trusting herself to say anything further without _really_ embarrassing herself.

Anya cleared her throat, sounding awkward. “Um, yes. You’ve been good to us. Miles above the last shithead, anyway, not that there’s any contest. I like being here.” She shrugged as she spoke, her voice carrying an air of finality, and Lexa knew she wouldn’t say anything further on the subject if she could help it. No matter; her characteristically to-the-point assessment had already been, for Anya, plenty emotional, and from Abby and Jake’s misty-eyed expressions Lexa knew they were fully aware of that fact as well.  

Jake smiled, looking more choked-up than either sister was prepared to deal with, but he just said, “I’m so glad to hear that. We want you to know that having you here has been a pleasure, and…” He paused, as if working his way up to something, and glanced at Abby, who nodded at him encouragingly, her hand in his. “…We’ve spoken about it, and well, we’ve of course already established your staying here until Anya turns eighteen, which is certainly still the case, and we’re delighted about it—”

Abby cut in smoothly as Jake began to ramble, his nerves apparently preventing him from finding his way to the point. “What Jake is trying to say, girls, is that we want you to know that there’s no looming deadline. We want you to finish school at Arkadia, Lexa. You’re both welcome here until Anya turns eighteen…and after that as well, for as long as you want. Our home is yours.” She smiled suddenly, looking a bit abashed. “If, of course, you want.”

Lexa stared at her, speechless, utterly unable to voice a reply to something she’d never seen coming or in a million years dare hope for. Next to her, Anya was similarly thunderstruck, her whole body tensed.

Abby and Jake watched them hopefully, clearly waiting for some sort of reaction; when it became clear that nothing was forthcoming from either girl, Abby coughed, her determined serenity cracking a bit under the force of their stares. “There’s absolutely no pressure from our end, of course, we’ve just enjoyed having you here and thought perhaps you’d, ah, like to have the option if…you want it…and, um—”

“Do you mean it?” The question, voiced so forcefully, took everyone by surprise, including Lexa herself. She let out a shaky breath. “Just— do you mean it?”

Abby looked at her, taken aback, before her expression cleared, and she smiled, the expression utterly sincere. “Lexa, we’ve watched as this house has become your and Anya’s home. We wouldn’t take that away. Of course we mean it.”

Lexa didn’t know what her emotions were doing, what she was feeling. Every moment of rejection she’d felt throughout her time in the system, the transient existence from one foster home to the next, the sting as she and Anya were passed over time and time again for even the possibility of adoption in favor of other, more desirable children, until the topic wasn’t even brought up anymore, the fact that they would stay in the system until they aged out a foregone conclusion – it was all crashing over her. Except this time, it wasn’t as painful as it usually might’ve been; rather, it was as if the festering wound was finally being cleanly lanced.

She could admit to herself, now, that somewhere, in some hidden part of her mind, a sort of hope had taken root in the past few weeks. Not for this – even in her most fantastical moments she wouldn’t have let herself dwell on such impossibilities. But she had let herself hope for – something. The permission to visit, after, to remember. To still be a part of their lives, in some small fashion.

But this? A home, freely offered? Her mind (her heart) didn’t even begin to know what to do with _that_.

She became dimly aware that Anya was gripping her hand, the hold vise-tight. Lexa looked at their entwined hands, their knuckles white, before up at Anya, seeing the emotions mirrored in her sister’s eyes.

“If…you need some time to think about it, girls,” Jake was saying carefully, “We can certainly appreciate that—”

“No.” He stopped short, and Lexa winced. “I mean, yes. I mean—” She blew out a breath, frustrated. “No, we don’t need more time. We…want to stay, if…if you’ll have us.” She suppressed another wince, this time at the audible strain in her voice.

Jake grinned, and if his eyes were shining a bit wetly, no one said anything. “Good. That’s good.”

Lexa’s heart was full.

 

**

“So what else did they say?!”

Lexa shrugged. “Well, once everyone had, you know, gotten a hold of themselves—”

“Also known as my dad.”

“Well, yeah,” Lexa admitted. “But anyway, basically they just stressed that we’re free to do as we like, completely up to us, et cetera, et cetera, and then…”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “And then?”

Lexa smiled, more than a little amused. “Dr. Griffin started discussing Anya’s post-graduation plans.”

Clarke stopped short, turning to face her fully on the sidewalk they’d been slowly walking down; their stroll through the neighborhood had been the best option for Clarke to get the full details out of Lexa, and the two to speak freely, while also not _really_ leaving the house by themselves. Or so Clarke had convinced Lexa. “You mean…?”

Lexa nodded, her lips twitching. “College.”

Clarke let out an only mildly exaggerated gasp, delighted. “How did this go?!”

“Not bad, actually. Anya was surprisingly…amenable. They talked about community college and stuff, maybe transferring out later. Your mom is pretty good with her, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” Clarke replied, frowning thoughtfully.

Lexa paused, hearing the odd note in her voice. “Does that...bother you?”

“No,” Clarke said quickly, then sighed. “No, not really. I’m…glad, actually. As I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m closer to my dad. My mom and I are cool and all, like I obviously _love_ her, but my dad’s always been the, like, bridge through how we connect. He’s the mediator; he just gets me. I don’t know if that sounds horrible, it’s just how we’ve always been…”

Lexa took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “It’s not horrible. There’s no one right way to relate to your parents, Clarke. And, at least from my observation, the three of you have a wonderful relationship.”

Clarke smiled, as much at the sentiment as Lexa’s endearing, characteristic formality. “Thanks, Lex.” Another thought occurred to her. “Did they mention anything about…us?”

Lexa glanced at her, but didn’t pretend to not understand. “No. Or, not like _that_. Although I definitely thought that was what it was about when we first walked in. My heart just about stopped.”

“God, I can imagine,” Clarke said, wincing sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, I definitely thought that’s what they were coming to talk to _me_ about when they came to my room last night.” Clarke’s parents, after having talked with Anya and Lexa, spoke to Clarke that night, though Clarke suspected it was a rather abbreviated version of the talk they’d had with the sisters. Now, at the end of week, she and Lexa finally had a chance to compare notes, not least to make sure their thus far under-wraps relationship was still just that.

“Oh, yeah.” Lexa paused. “Well…was it?”

Clarke laughed. “No, thank god. Just to let me know what you guys talked about. But you said they mentioned it? Sort of?”

Lexa sighed. “Sort of. Your dad just said something in passing, after the whole Anya-college thing, about knowing how close you and I have gotten. It was innocuous enough, but, I don’t know, just the way he looked when he said it, made me wonder…”

Clarke was quiet for a moment. “Well…I told you we talked on that camping trip. So he knows that I like you—” She rolled her eyes as Lexa smirked, looking smug, “But I don’t think he knows that we, uh, did anything about it.”

Lexa reddened, her smirk gone as quickly as it had come. “And…we want to keep it that way, right?”

Clarke paused as she thought through the possible outcomes of _that_ little revelation, then nodded fervently. “Uh, yeah. It’s…simpler.”

Simpler. Lexa suppressed a sigh. She didn’t know if any part of this…whatever…between them was simple. Okay, except for the part where she and Clarke liked each other, like, _really_ liked each other, that was simple enough, to the point that Lexa was starting to think that her feelings for Clarke were comparable, if not stronger to those she’d had for Costia— and _wow_ okay maybe even this part wasn’t that simple, after all. 

And now she was staying. A fact that still made her heart lift and chest feel light, but didn’t exactly provide any answers about what to do about them, did it? The prospect of keeping them under wraps until Anya was legal, or _she_ was legal, or they moved out entirely was not exactly a thrilling (or, frankly, feasible) one.

“Lex?”

Lexa looked up from where, she realized, she been mindlessly staring at the sidewalk as they walked and her mind spun in circles. They were now, she saw, nearing the house, and Clarke was looking at her a tad worriedly. She forced a smile, aware that it fell a little flat. “It’s nothing.”

Clarke just raised an eyebrow at her, and she sighed. “No, it’s just…we have to tell them eventually. Right?”

Clarke looked at her, then nodded slowly. “Right. I mean, yeah, of course. But can we just wait? Until things are more…stable?”

Lexa bit her lip, then nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Clarke smiled, looking relieved. “Good. And hey,” she poked Lexa in the side, her smile turning teasing, “You don’t have to look like you’re signing your own death warrant when you say that.”

Lexa opened her mouth to object, but just let out a rueful laugh upon seeing Clarke’s smirk. “Sorry, it’s just…you know I worry.”

Clarke paused, and turned to her, taking her hand (Lexa suppressed the urge to look furtively around, feeling a bit awkward now that they were so close to the house, even if neither parent was home). “Hey. I get it, you know? I do. I know you, you’re not really the type to sneak around. But we _will_ tell them, I promise.” She searched the other girl’s eyes. “Okay?”

Lexa returned the look, then squeezed Clarke’s hand. “Okay.”

Clarke nodded once, firmly, and then let go of her hand (Lexa ruthlessly stamped out her flash of forlornness), the two making their way up the empty driveway and back into the house in silence.

They stepped into the kitchen, and Lexa headed to the fridge, intent on getting something to drink.

“You know…”

She sharply turned – nearly banging her head on the fridge door – at the sound of Clarke’s voice, suddenly much closer than it had been – only to feel the cool metal press against her back as Clarke, her eyes alight with mischief, backed her up against it. Lexa felt her eyes widen, her face heating up. “Clarke—?”

“You know,” Clarke repeated, as if Lexa hadn’t spoken at all, “In all this talking, I’ve noticed that you haven’t actually said anything about how _you_ feel about staying.”

“H-how I feel…?” Lexa blinked furiously, trying to maintain coherent thought as Clarke’s proximity filled her head, leaving room for precious little else.

“Mm-hmm.” Clarke looked enormously pleased (and more than a little amused) at Lexa’s speechlessness, her smiling widening when the other girl’s breath caught as she reached out to run her fingers over the soft material of Lexa’s t-shirt. “I mean, I’ve heard an awful lot about logistics, and plans, and my _parents_ , but…”

Lexa squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, a measure of renewed focus apparent when she opened them next. “Clarke. Do you even have to ask? This is more than I ever expected.” Her gaze softened. “ _You’re_ more than I ever expected.”

She found she didn’t have the words to elaborate on how she felt, then, but she didn’t need to; Clarke’s teasing smile turned utterly sincere, and she beamed at Lexa, who was helpless to do anything but smile back. “Same here.”

Clarke leaned forward, but just before their lips met, Lexa attempted a noble, albeit feeble, protest: “Clarke…we’re at home, your parents…”

“Aren’t here.” Clarke grinned, her tongue between her teeth. “And you know…while we _will_ tell them…in the meantime, sneaking around is kind of fun.”

She leaned forward again, and this time, Lexa was powerless to stop her, her arms looping around the other girl’s waist as Clarke’s hands fisted in Lexa’s shirt.

Clarke was right, Lexa decided fuzzily. As loathe as she was to admit, the edge of danger to their illicit activities – the self-enforced rules, the sneaking around – _did_ add an air of excitement to everything, a thrill that made it that more memorable.

Then Clarke opened her mouth, and Lexa stopped thinking altogether.

So lost were the girls in each other, long minutes passing, that they utterly failed to hear the distant rumble of a car pulling into the driveway, or the unmistakable noise of a car door closing; the sound of the lock turning in the front door was (impressively) left ignored, though they really couldn’t be blamed for not noticing the door opening, the hinges silent thanks to Jake’s dutiful oiling every other month.

And from there, well, it was just a short walk from the foyer to the kitchen.

The sound of a throat clearing (perhaps more choked than usual) did the trick, finally, and by then, of course, it was far too late. Clarke looked up, from where, she would remember with a tinge of regret, she’d been pressing her lips to Lexa’s neck, her face draining of all color at the sight of her father standing frozen in the entryway, his eyes wide and face similarly pale.

She let out a strangled curse, pulling her arm free from where, oh _god_ , it had been sneaking up Lexa’s shirt, and jumped back as if burned; Lexa’s eyes snapped open, and she let out an honest-to-god squeak at the sight of Jake, her face flushing a deep red as she scrambled to straighten her shirt.

Jake let out another choked sound. Clarke couldn’t really blame him.

Well, at least they didn’t have to worry about how to tell her parents anymore.

 

**

“You have to leave your room eventually.”

Clarke groaned. “No, I really don’t.”

“I don’t think you’ve missed a breakfast since 2008, and you still haven’t forgiven me for that.”

“You underestimate the volume of snacks I have hidden in here…and you’re right, I haven’t.”

“Clarke, I hate to break it to you, but your dad lives in that house. As do you. You need to deal. …Not to mention, it’s Saturday, and he’s gonna be around all day.” Raven, Clarke decided, really needed to work on her sympathizing skills.

“Raven’s right, Clarke.” And so did Wells.

“Um, hello, supposed best friends, did you two miss the part where my dad walked in on me and Lexa with my hand _up her shirt_?!” Her voice had risen to an impressive whisper-scream by the end of the sentence, and she was probably leaning closer to the webcam than strictly necessary, but she couldn’t manage anything else with her nerves tattered as they were.

Wells grimaced, his face only a bit grainy over the emergency video call Clarke had convened. “Okay, can we _not_ reiterate the details more than necessary?”

Raven shrugged. “I dunno, I’m kinda into it.”

Wells and Clarke both let out squawks of protest at that, and Raven snickered. “Man, y’all are too easy, I swear.” She sobered, somewhat, at Clarke’s look of desperation. “Alright, alright. Clarke, I get that you’re embarrassed—”

“ _Embarrassed_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m mortified. Humiliated. I literally can’t be in the same room as him, much less look at him,” Clarke said, her voice pathetic.

“It’s been less than a day, dude. It’s still fresh.”

Wells nodded. “Look, Mr. G. is probably feeling the exact same way. You said you all kinda…scattered?”

Clarke nodded miserably. “I don’t even know, we were all just frozen in horror, and then all of a sudden got the hell outta there. It was like a flip switched, fight-or-flight.” She sighed. “And I…chose flight.”

“Well, so did everyone else,” Raven pointed out reasonably. “And where’s Lexa in all this?”

Clarke shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her. Neither of us came down to dinner last night, it was barely a few hours since… _since_ , and Anya dragged her out to the gym this morning and they’ve been gone all day.”

“Probably for the best,” Raven said, her voice speculative. Wells nodded along, and Clarke resisted the urge to somehow reach through the camera and throttle them both.

“Can I ask why you two are being so damn zen? This is a _crisis_!”

They both hesitated, and only when Clarke felt her lips curl back into a snarl did Wells put his hands up placatingly. “Clarke, obviously, this sucks. But…well…your parents had to find out sooner or later, right? It’s already been almost a month…”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, saying quickly, “I know, I _know_ this was hardly the preferable way for it to happen, but it did. So now…well, you have to talk to him. You know you do.”

She sighed, her shoulders drooping. “I guess.” She flopped back onto her bed, groaning again. “Please, someone, _anyone_ , kill me.”

The sound of knocking on her closed bedroom door at that very moment had her heart flying into her throat, and she sat up with a gasp.

“Looks like you have a taker,” Raven said.

Clarke just scowled at her, before swallowing hard. “Come in.”

The door cracked opened, and her heart dropped down into her chest as her dad poked his head in, looking as hesitant as she felt. “Hey. Is this a good time?”

 _No_ , Clarke wanted to scream, but instead just nodded. She hastily typed “I’ll talk to you guys later” into the chat box, and barely saw Raven’s “GL” before she closed the screen.

Her dad stepped into the room, and for a moment the two just stared at each other, the tension in the air uncomfortable and unfamiliar to them both.

Well, Clarke thought, someone was going to have to break the ice. “Dad, I—”

“Listen, kiddo—”

They both stopped short, and Clarke bit back a sigh. This was getting overly predictable.

Jake peered at her, before letting out a breath. “So we should probably have a chat, huh?”

She nodded. That was an understatement.

He put his hands on his hips, and after taking a speculative look around the (eternally messy) room, sat carefully on the desk chair, free for once of its usual pile of clothing; Clarke was reminded, with a jolt, of when Lexa had come into her room that first time, and sat down in the same chair, with that same look on her face, and tried hard not to react.

If her dad noticed anything, he chose not to comment, and after a moment boldly started again. “So…Lexa.”

That about summed it up, didn’t it? “Um, yes."

He sat back in the chair, folding his arms. “How long have you— how long has this been going on?”

“Um…almost a month.”

He flinched, and Clarke tried not wince. God, this was awkward. “But I mean— we haven’t— um, you know—”

Her dad help up a hand, a pleading look on his face, and Clarke subsided into merciful silence, her cheeks heating as she moved to study the bedsheets.

“Um, that’s fine, Clarke,” Jake managed after a bit. “I don’t— I’m not here to interrogate you. But I…” He blew out a breath, looking torn between frustration and awkwardness of his own. “I need to understand.”

“I know.” She pulled at a loose thread on the comforter.

“Then help me do that. How did this…all start?”

“I…well…she sat for my semester project, for art. And, um, things kind of went from there…”

He nodded, trying to look neutral but his discomfort clearly visible. “And now…?”

She paused mid-pull, and looked up at him, something about this line of questioning suddenly bothering her, her eyes intent. “Dad, no offense, but does it really matter?”

Jake sat up at that, his eyebrows fairly meeting his hairline. “Pardon?”

“Dad, you _know_ I liked – _like_ – Lexa. You even told me that you thought she liked me back, that there’s nothing wrong with it!”

He paused, looking at her carefully, before surprising her as he broke into a wry chuckle, shaking his head. “Sometimes the resemblance between you and your mother is scary.”

She puffed up at that, but he spoke quickly over her. “Sweetheart, there is nothing wrong with the fact that you have feelings for Lexa. I meant it then, and I meant it now. _But_ —”

“Here we go,” Clarke muttered.

He gave her a look, but just continued, “I’ve had a chance to discuss this with your mom—”

“Even better.”

This time, the look he sent her was enough to successfully cow her, and only when she had fully subsided into somewhat sullen silence did he continue. “And _we_ agree that I could have been a bit more, ah, _precise_ with my language then. I tried to caution you at that time, but I think I could’ve been…clearer.”

She glared. “What does that even mean?”

He sighed. “Clarke, when I spoke to you about Lexa, I was trying to affirm an aspect of your life that you were clearly still trying to figure out for yourself. But I’m concerned that in trying to do that, I gave you the impression that acting on those feelings was something you should do.”

He looked away at the end of this rather puzzling sentence, clearly uncomfortable.

For a moment, all Clarke could do was gawk at him, trying to pick apart what he was actually getting at beneath his careful wording. Until finally: “So, you just wanted me to like her, but not do anything about it?” The unspoken _have you met me?_ under her words was audible to them both.

Jake had the grace to redden, but held his ground. “It’s not that simple, Clarke, and we both know it. Lexa – who, for the record, you know I like and care for very much – is living here. In the same house. Across the hall!”

“So?” Clarke said, knowing she was being purposefully obtuse but at this point was so irritated she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Her dad wasn’t faring much better, it appeared, and his brows furrowed incredulously. “ _So,_ aside from the very problematic situation of two teenagers living together _dating_ , she’s your foster sister! Placed here by the state! And I’m fully aware that you can appreciate the implications of _that_. Don’t you see that you’re putting us – and her – in an awkward position?”

This, finally, prompted a real reaction out of her, and she abruptly deflated, some of the rising indignation draining out of her.

“I do know that,” she muttered, sullen.

“So you see why we have a problem? Your mother and I’s first priority is Lexa and Anya’s wellbeing, honey, and this…situation places that in jeopardy.”

Even though she knew what he was trying to say, this statement struck a nerve for Clarke, who, try as she might, couldn’t stop the defensiveness building inside of her, even as it made her less willing to hear him out. “Dad, are you serious right now? _Situation_? You’re talking about me like…like I’m some kind of mistake!”

“Clarke, that’s not—”

But she went right on, outraged all over again. “And _I_ should be your first priority – you should have _my_ back!”

Jake held his hands out to her pleadingly, alarmed. “Of course I have your back – but I also have a responsibility to Lexa and Anya. And perhaps you aren’t letting yourself see it, but those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

They stared at each other, and for the first time in her life, Clarke felt the startling sense that she and her father weren’t on the same page. Finally, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if trying to get a handle on his emotions.

“Clarke,” he said, “I’m not trying to blame you or make you feel ashamed. I love you, and want you to be happy.”

“Lexa makes me happy.” She cursed the way her voice shook.

He didn’t argue the fact, and just said, his voice very gentle, “I know.”

“So what are you going to do? You can’t tell me that Lexa and I…that we…” Clarke couldn’t make herself finish.

Her dad sat back, looking tired. “I don’t know, Clarke. But I do know that this can’t go on as it has; things will have to change. I think you know that.”

Clarke had heard enough. “I _think_ that I’d like you to leave.”

His hands froze from where they’d been scrubbing over his face, and he stared at her. “Clarke, what—?”

“I’m serious. I have nothing else to say to you about this right now, and you’re in _my_ room.” Even as she said the words, some part of herself cringed, but the rest of her was so overwhelmed with fury and fear and maddening helplessness that in that moment she just wanted him _out_. 

Jake stared at her, and then, just nodded once, rising and quietly leaving the room, the door closing behind him with a click.

Clarke sat back and, when she was sure she was alone, began to cry.

 

**

Clarke hated this. She _hated_ this.

She usually got in fights with her mom, not her dad! And she didn’t even know how it had happened. The conversation she’d gone into fully intending to be rational and levelheaded (if a little embarrassed) had quickly spiraled out of control, and she could barely understand it herself. One moment, she’d been prepared to tell him about how she felt about Lexa, what Lexa meant to her – and the next, she’d barely been able to think straight, so overcome with that wave of defensiveness and anger and bitter disappointment.

That last emotion had puzzled her, after, and taken some time to decipher, even to herself. But she grudgingly came to the realization that that disappointment, and its corresponding defensiveness, stemmed from the simple fact that she’d always been able to count on the fact that her dad would back her up. That he was the one who got her, and would always defend her.

To have that suddenly not be the case, and in relation to something so important to her, had been unexpectedly painful, and felt so much like betrayal that all ability to behave rationally had deserted her entirely.

In that rational part of her mind, Clarke could admit that her dad was right; should Maya catch wind of her and Lexa’s relationship, there was no telling what would happen to Lexa and Anya; and though it galled her, she could understand why her parents wouldn’t be too jazzed about the idea of two teenagers living under their roof also carrying on a relationship.

Unfortunately, Clarke’s rational mind was not in control at the moment. Too stung and hurt by what she perceived as her father’s abandonment – and when she needed his support the most, no less – Clarke was not remotely prepared to see things his way, much less act on them.

Maybe Wells was right when he said that she could hold a grudge, after all.

But that didn’t mean that it didn’t _hurt_ , in the meantime. She had her friends, and they were enormously important to her, but at the end of the day her dad was her pal, her support system, her first confidante – the most important man in her life.

She found, after the argument, she didn’t have it in her to debrief with Raven and Wells, despite their numerous well-meaning texts and calls on the subject. She was just too upset, and found the idea of rehashing it all over again too painful.

She _did_ talk about it with Lexa. Though she hadn’t been able to bring herself to text the other girl about the argument – it would inevitably cause Lexa to feel endless, needless guilt – Lexa knocked on her door that evening anyway, after her return from her all day, Anya-engineered outing to the gym; Clarke knew the move, coming after her parents’ discovery of them, must have been enormously stressful, but couldn’t deny the relief that coursed through her at the sound of that soft knock.

Lexa had been a godsend – patient and sympathetic and understanding, and Clarke found that she _did_ feel better after telling her about it – but the other girl, of course, clearly also felt terribly guilty about her part in things. Clarke had tried to persuade her otherwise, because okay, fine, while she and Lexa were very clearly doing this thing together, this argument between Clarke and her dad was purely between them, and at this point, to Clarke at least, felt about more than just Lexa. And regardless, as far as Clarke was concerned, there was nothing Lexa could do about it anyway.

Lexa hadn’t been as convinced, returning Clarke’s defiant kiss with some hesitance before making her stealthy exit. But Clarke, despite internally being just as jumbled up as Lexa, was not prepared to work things out with her dad – her anger had not yet cooled enough to be overpowered enough by her reason.

 

Sunday came, and it featured the awkwardness that had descended on the house as the noticeable coolness between its two most exuberant members persisted; the rain pouring outside much matched the mood inside.

And if the coolness was mostly radiating from Clarke, well, that was just fine with her.

She’d noticed her dad looking at her pleadingly more than once, his infamous puppy dog eyes in full force, but she’d already resolved that if they wouldn’t work on her mother, then they wouldn’t work on her.  (And ruthlessly ignored the corresponding pangs in her heart every time.)

Lexa tried, bravely, to convince her to make amends, or at least _talk_ to Jake – “Clarke, you mean everything to him, and he to you” – but her message fell on deaf ears. As the day wore on – in an unfortunate irony, it was the epitome of a lazy Sunday, and no one had anywhere to be, setting the stage for an increasingly awkward drama in front of a full audience – Clarke felt her mother looking at her and her dad with more and more exasperation, mixed with worry; after all, it was Abby Clarke usually sparred with, not Jake, and Abby hadn’t the first idea how to play mediator, a role that Jake usually assumed with ease.

Despite her stoniness, some part of Clarke knew that things couldn’t go on like this, and being out of sorts with her dad for even this long was hurting her more than she thought possible. She knew that she would have to talk to him eventually, and privately resolved to do so, perhaps even soon – just as soon as her injured pride had healed a bit.

But until then, well, her dad could just stew a bit.

(Wells also may have had a point when he said that when she was angry, she could be a bit petty; he had had more to say on the subject, but as this was where she had started pinching him she never did hear the rest.)

By that evening, everyone was on edge: Lexa, resigned and silently reproachful; Anya, annoyed (but only, as she informed Clarke, with her); and her mom, more worried than ever.

Clarke was sitting in the den, determinedly watching TV (if staring at the moving pictures without taking them in counted) with Anya, Lexa reading nearby, when her dad walked in. Her shoulders stiffened, but she forced herself to not otherwise react, continuing to watch the screen.

She listened as he announced plans to go pick up dinner from Hunan Village, and had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stick her plan of non-reaction; the Chinese restaurant was her absolute favorite, despite being halfway across town, and Clarke knew this was her dad’s peace offering.

When Anya and Lexa had offered their assent (after an awkward silence, everyone looking to Clarke), he cleared his throat and nodded, and after collecting his keys and rain jacket returned to the den. Clarke waited for him to leave – really, this show was horrible and only got worse the more she felt his eyes on her – but he seemed to be hesitating.

She heard him step closer, then his shadow falling over her as he bent to press a kiss to her hair. “Love you, kiddo.”

This finally made her turn in her seat, her throat unexpectedly tightening, only to see his back as he disappeared through the front door and into the rain beyond.

The silence that stretched out after his departure bordered on the unbearable. Clarke, now feeling uncomfortably guilty and thoroughly immature, resolved privately to approach him after dinner; despite her lingering hurt, this was her dad, the one who loved her best. She knew she had to talk to him. Together, they would figure it out.

The time stretched out, inane show after show flickering past her only half-watching eyes, and it was only when the clock in the hall sounded the time did she realize an hour had passed. Clarke frowned; the restaurant was far, sure, but she’d have expected him to be back by now.

Well, the weather outside was horrible – a quick glance at the window confirmed that it was still pouring, dramatic flashes of lightning and occasional thunder completing the picture – so perhaps he was taking it slow. That would make sense.

She turned back to the television, trying without success to quiet the hum of worry starting up at the back of her head. He’d be back soon. Then, they would talk.

Another show, and another half-hour, passed, with no sign of her dad. She heard her mom, from where she’d been working on her laptop in the kitchen, leave a voicemail on her dad’s phone, and swallowed hard.

A particularly loud crack of thunder sounded, reverberating throughout the house, and Clarke jumped, looking away from the TV to see Anya and Lexa similarly startled. As soon as she met Lexa’s eyes, she looked away, unable to see the worry there.

Time wore on. She heard her mom call again, and then again. The call never seemed to go through, or was otherwise unreturned.

It was nearing half past nine, now, and the ball of dread that had formed in the pit of her stomach seemed only to grow.

Outside, the storm showed no signs of relenting.

It was almost ten when the call came. Her mom’s phone rang, and Clarke’s shoulders relaxed incrementally as she answered. Finally. He must’ve gotten a flat, or the battery must’ve died, or—

A metallic crash rang out in the kitchen, and she was off the couch and in the kitchen before she realized she was moving.

Her mom’s phone lay on the ground, the screen cracked beyond repair. Clarke looked first at the phone – the inane observation floating through her head that her dad would be annoyed, they had just upgraded – and then up at her mother’s face.

And then, she knew.

Her last, numb, thought was a realization, tinged with the growing horror that would shortly overcome her: they never would get the chance to have that talk.

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone. It's been a minute, hasn't it? My apologies for my (extended) absence; life has been Really Happening these past few months and my writing time has been quite reduced. But here we are! Fair warning: this is going to be a longer than usual note, so if you're not terribly interested scroll now lol.
> 
> Some housekeeping:  
> \- This is old news, now, but I was very pleased and honored to find this story included among the nominees for the Clexa Fanfiction Awards, especially considering all the talent in this fandom. Thanks to everyone who thought of this story!  
> \- I wrote a Clexa oneshot a little while ago, featuring time-travel and its related escapades. I had fun writing it, check it out if you're so inclined.
> 
> So...anyway. Ch. 17. Let's talk a little on it, shall we? I was certainly expecting some reactions, but nonetheless confess some surprise at the, ah, intensity of some of the replies LOL. Y'all, let me just say that this turn of events has been planned and outlined from Ch. 1, and indeed, last chapter and events going forwards are what served as the actual original inspiration for this story. I understand it may not be everyone's cup of tea, and that's really okay; life is too short to write anything but the stories you want to tell or to read fic you're not feeling. I hope you'll stick with it, but if not, may we cross paths sometime in the future. There were also some concerns about the number of remaining chapters - I'll just say that "22" is more of a suggestion than a binding order, and the story will close when it's ready to do so.
> 
> (Also, as an aside, I usually try to reply to at least some of the comments on chapters but got a tad overwhelmed last time haha. Rest assured I read every one, thanks to all for sharing your thoughts!)
> 
> Okay, now that I have annoyed even myself with the length of this note, I'll get off my soapbox. On with the story!

Life is, by and large, a series of days flashing past one after the other, settling into a neat groove, a predictable pattern, that can be, depending on one’s perspective, either comforting or monotonous. Every now and again, that pattern is upset, perhaps as a new phase in one’s life is entered, and one has to search to find a new equilibrium, or some aberration unfolds contrary to the norm, a change that requires analysis and acceptance. It can be painful, but is certainly possible, and in any case a certain amount of change is to be expected.

And sometimes, an event, sudden and unexpected as a clap of thunder, can shake one’s life to its very foundations, calling into question everything one accepts as fact, altering their worldview and ultimately, changing them as a person. It can, of course, happen to anyone, at any time, but people have a funny way of never thinking it’ll happen to them.

Clarke was learning she was in that group.

Since that Sunday, when her life had been irreparably changed in the span of a few hours, she had stumbled through the days in a haze of exhaustion and grief, hardly able to recognize this horrible new reality in which she kept waking. She didn’t know how to understand it, much less accept it. The feelings, when they managed to force their way through the all-encompassing, numbing shroud that had settled over her senses, were equally incomprehensible in their intensity and lasting power. Clarke had felt loss, horror, fear, guilt, and more before, of course, but never like this. There were times when it felt as if the force of her grief would bring her to her knees, and keep her there.

It didn’t help that the one person she would turn to – and who her mind  _kept_  turning to, before she remembered – to help make sense of it all, and make it all a little less frightening, was the very person who was the cause of all this.

Clarke couldn’t turn to him, because he  _wasn’t there_.

Her dad wasn’t there, and she was falling apart.

 

**

Lexa couldn’t sleep. Hadn’t been able to sleep, for days.

Even now, as she lay on her bed, it was only to stare at the ceiling unblinkingly.

Everything had been perfect. Or, at least, the closest her until-recently messed up life had ever gotten to perfect. Between Jake and Abby, Anya, the soccer team, and, most amazingly, Clarke, life at Griffins had been everything she could’ve asked for.

She should’ve known it couldn’t last.

Everything was in ruins, now. Mr. Griffin –  _Jake_  – was gone. In the blink of an eye, on a banal Sunday evening, taken. Lexa was no stranger to loss, but the sheer mundanity of it all – heavy rain, low visibility, hydroplaning on a slick road, a collision – made her want to scream. So easily avoided. Not terribly unusual. And yet entirely, completely devastating.

Devastating, in so many ways. For Clarke, god, of course for Clarke, and for Dr. Griffin, and Lexa’s heart bled for both of them. But sometimes, in moments of weakness, she could admit to herself that her chest felt hollowed out, just a little bit, for herself as well, as she mourned the loss of a man she had, privately and entirely to herself, begun to regard as a sort of second father.

Jake…just picturing the man’s warm smile made her eyes burn all over again. After a lifetime of wariness and suspicion, traits both borne from hard necessity and experience, sharing space with an adult (a man, no less) in the latest in a series of mostly lackluster – and occasionally horrible – foster homes hadn’t exactly filled her with glee. Her and Anya’s resulting guardedness was designed to keep just about everyone at an arm’s length, and they both had been fully prepared to maintain their distance for the full ten months at the Griffins’ if necessary.

Jake – and Dr. Griffin, of course, but especially Jake – had been unlike any other foster parent they had ever encountered. He had seemed to innately just  _know_  what they needed (or, in their case, didn’t need), and given them all the space and privacy they could possibly want at the beginning.

He had acted with complete respect, diplomacy, and discretion, three things that had been sorely lacking in the sisters’ lives. And, at the same time, had managed to project the most wonderful warmth and total acceptance, in the way he interacted with his wife and daughter, and, as Lexa and Anya slowly let their walls down, with them, as well.

He had been kind. A simple kindness that asked for nothing in return. From his silly conversations and ever sillier dad jokes, his utter sincerity and seemingly endless patience, to soccer and that confrontation with Frank. Despite all the barriers and challenges, the burdens Lexa knew her and Anya’s presence placed on the Griffins, there never had been a straw that had broken the camel’s back.

Not even her newfound relationship with Clarke. She hadn’t imparted this to Clarke, yet, and now…didn’t know if it would ever be the right time. But she had spoken to Jake. On that terrible Sunday, in the early morning when everyone else in the house was asleep. She, still smarting from the utter humiliation of being caught in such a compromising fashion two days before, had been rather unable to follow suit, Anya’s enforced workout the day before not doing much to keep her down. And so, rather than just lay in bed, stewing in her thoughts, she had found her way downstairs, into the kitchen – only to stop short at the sight of Jake, sitting at his favorite spot at the kitchen counter, ever-present cup of coffee and heavy Sunday edition of the  _Times_  unfurled before him.

She had stood frozen, for a moment, mentally smacking herself for managing to somehow forget Jake’s infuriatingly regular schedule, and seeing if it was at all possible to sneak away undetected. But it was no good; he looked up at her entry, and the two of them stared at each other in unabashed awkwardness for a long moment, Lexa trying her very hardest to not so much as  _think_  about the fridge behind him, lest he somehow read her thoughts and the two relive that hellish moment.

Then, just when she thought she would have to make a run for it to salvage the last scraps of her dignity, Jake had smiled, shaking his head a little. “Lexa. Hey there. Come in, I made coffee.”

She wasn’t going to get a clearer invitation than that, and – even if she’d really rather flee back upstairs and pretend the whole thing had never happened – gave him a weak smile, entering the kitchen.

After pouring herself a mug, Lexa had taken a seat at the counter, bracing herself for whatever inquisition was surely heading her way. Mr. Griffin was easygoing and usually unflappable, but she somewhat doubted that extended to the revelation that his ward had been carrying on an illicit relationship behind his back with his  _daughter_.

Oh, god. Just the thought made her cringe.

They had sat in silence for a few minutes, Jake idly sipping his coffee and continuing to read the news, while Lexa clutched her mug in a white-knuckled grip and tried not to freak out.

Was this some kind of mental torture? Or waiting her out to see if she would crack? Mr. Griffin had never struck her as particularly Machiavellian, but who knew, maybe all bets were off once something of this magnitude came to light.  Oh,  _god_ , she did not have anywhere near the amount of chill necessary for this. She had  _negative_  chill. She would laugh at herself if she wasn’t about to work herself into a full-fledged panic. Okay, that was it. She had to say something, acknowledge the Clarke-sized elephant in the room before she went crazy.

“Mr. Griffin, I—” “Look, Lexa—”

Lexa resisted the urge to scream. Why did this always happen?! Next to her, Mr. Griffin, far from being frustrated, had looked amused. “Uh, you okay there?” He nodded at her mug. “Think you’re about to break the handle clean off that thing.”

She forced herself to blow out a calming breath, detaching from the mug with some difficulty. “Fine. I’m fine.”

He raised his eyebrows, still looking amused, but didn’t question her. She stared the mug for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts, only for them to scatter all over again when she noticed for the first time which mug exactly she’d grabbed from the cupboard – one of Mr. Griffin’s favorites, decorated on the sides with the shaky curlicues and exuberantly colored flowers crafted by a six-year old Clarke. The words carefully scrawled in a child’s script across the top – “I love you, daddy” – didn’t do much to ease the sinking feeling in Lexa’s stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut. God. This really was  _such_ a shitshow.

“Lexa, it’s okay.”

Her eyes sprang open, and she turned her head to see Mr. Griffin gazing at her, compassion lighting his eyes. Her expression must’ve been a sight to see, because he had let out a rueful chuckle at the sight of it before shaking his head. “I mean, look…I know this is terribly awkward for everyone,  _believe_  me, and I’m not thrilled about all of it…but you don’t need to look like you’re awaiting your execution.”

Lexa gaped at him, hardly able to reign in her incredulity. “Mr. Griffin, that is very…kind of you to say, but I—” She looked away abruptly, unable to look him in the eye. “I betrayed your and Dr. Griffin’s trust. You gave me and my sister a home, with nothing to gain from it, and I…I…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

“Do you care about Clarke?”

She looked up sharply at the question, positive she’d misheard. “W-what?”

He looked at her calmly. “Do you care about Clarke?”

Lexa swallowed hard. Again, Mr. Griffin wasn’t the type to play games, but this situation was bordering on the surreal. Well, considering she had nothing to lose… “So much, Mr. Griffin.”

Jake smiled, his eyes softening. “I know.” He looked down at his coffee, thoughtful. “I’m not mad at you, Lexa. I want you to know that. I can see just how much you two care about each other, and, for what it’s worth, I think you two are very well suited to each other. And,” he looked up, eyeing her earnestly. “Lexa, aside from all this, I think you’re a terrific kid. I hope you know just how fond Abby and I are of you.”

She smiled weakly, not sure how to respond, and after a moment he sighed. “But…I  _am_  concerned. Before anything else, my concern as your foster parent is your wellbeing. I know that you know this situation, as it currently stands…complicates things.”

Lexa just nodded, and he let out a breath, apparently having said his piece. They sat in silence for a moment, neither apparently sure what to say after that. After a minute, Jake surprised her by chuckling again, although this sound was a little less amused. “I don’t suppose you’ve talked to Clarke?”

She couldn’t hide her wince, and Jake snorted. “I see.” His strained amusement turned to a frown. “While I sure wish our conversation had gone a little better, looking back, I can’t say I’m surprised. Clarke and I have always been our own little team…I guess when she felt that I wasn’t on her side she got a little upset.”

Lexa cleared her throat, compelled to say something at the real dejection on his face. “She definitely is upset, Mr. Griffin, but I think she already regrets her…reaction. Give her a little time, and I’m sure you two will be able to resolve things.”

He hummed, propping his chin on his hand as he stared pensively at the coffee machine. “I think you’re right.” He smiled suddenly. “She is a firecracker though, isn’t she?”

Lexa laughed. “Without a doubt. It can be mildly alarming.”

“I see you  _do_  know it.” He drained his coffee, before turning fully in his seat to face her. “Look, Lexa. I don’t want you to freak out over this, okay? Once Clarke has…calmed down a little, we can figure this all out. It’s only a few months more until Anya ages out, anyway. And regardless of anything else, my and Abby’s promise to you girls hasn’t changed. Sound good?”

She looked at him, struck as always by his ever-present calm and grace. “I…thank you, Mr. Griffin. I—” She looked down at her hands, feeling as if a word of explanation,  _any_  kind of explanation, was warranted, though nothing felt entirely sufficient. “I didn’t expect this to happen…but Clarke…she’s just…it kind of just  _did_.”

Lexa looked up at his chuckle, seeing him looking at her with fondness in her eyes. “That’s how it always does.” He had surprised her by standing then, collecting his mug and paper, before slinging an arm around her. “Don’t worry about it, Lexa. Everything will work out.”

She’d nodded, and he had dropped an absentminded kiss to her head, almost as if it was an unconscious gesture, before ambling out of the room.

Lexa had watched his retreating back and felt a measure of peace settle over her, combined with a renewed determination to convince Clarke to make up with him. The love for Clarke had shone out of Jake as he spoke, and Lexa knew Clarke felt the same for him. It didn’t hurt that Lexa, for her part, had defied all logic taught to her by the system, and at this point her feelings for both of them fairly demanded she do all in her power to see them reconciled. This argument, while focusing around a legitimate issue, wasn’t that big in the grander scheme of things anyway.

And she had attempted to do just that, pleading with Clarke to make up with her father, or at least talk to him. But Clarke was still too stung, her pride still injured, and Lexa had been unsuccessful; when she’d left Clarke’s room, defeated, she had consoled herself with the thought that Clarke, even as she’d spoken to Lexa, had been fairly close to cracking, and would surely relent within a day or two. Her stubbornness wasn’t exactly new, and Lexa thought that it wasn’t entirely surprising to herself  _or_  Mr. Griffin.

And then that evening…that evening. Now, laying on her bed, Lexa squeezed her eyes shut, nausea twisting through her. At the time, she’d thought it a good thing, a peace offering that would be sure to melt the last of Clarke’s resistance, even as Lexa winced at what was bordering on pettiness on Clarke’s part as Mr. Griffin headed out into that terrible weather. But she’d thought nothing of it.

Until the worst came to pass, and there was nothing else that occupied her head.

God, just the unfeeling cruelty of it all…Lexa knew where Jake had stood, had that reassurance directly from him, and knew that nothing had been broken permanently between him and Clarke, far from it; things would ultimately work out, even if in the immediate present, she and Clarke had to reassess the parameters of their budding…whatever.

But it would’ve worked out.  _They_  would’ve worked out. Lexa had believed that, and had reason to do so.

Clarke would never have that.  

Jake had died without Clarke ever making up with him, and now she had to live with that, wake up every painful morning and relearn it, experience it all over again.

Lexa didn’t how she could bear it, how  _anyone_  could bear it. Her own guilt and creeping self-loathing – she may have spoken to Jake, and had the worst of her fears assuaged, but that didn’t change the fact that, ultimately, she was part of the reason he chose to leave the house that night – didn’t help matters. The last few days had seen a painful resurgence of memories really better left in the past – her parents, Indra. Lexa was mired in her own grief, and didn’t know how to help Clarke – or if her help was even welcome.

She didn’t know where they stood, and was too afraid to inquire too deeply. They’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences since the funeral, an event that made her whole body tremble at just the recollection. Clarke had disappeared into herself, and Lexa didn’t know how to bring her back. If she was even the right person to attempt such a thing.

It was as if, with the absence of Jake, the entire house had become a tomb; Clarke rarely emerged from her room, Anya was almost always absent – Lexa knew the stifling environment, combined with the resurgence of emotions hard for her to handle, kept her out as much as possible – and Dr. Griffin tried to keep it together enough to keep the house running. But Lexa could see the cracks forming, and knew the situation could not hold.

What happened next, she didn’t know.

Lexa missed Mr. Griffin, and her parents. She missed  _Clarke_. And she didn’t know what to do.

She became aware that her cheeks were wet, and raised a hand to her face to find that she was crying.

 

**

Two weeks after Jake died, Maya came to visit.

It wasn’t terribly surprising, or unexpected. Lexa and Anya had been in the game long enough to have some idea of what to expect after a sudden tragedy befalling their foster family.

The knowledge, of course, didn’t make it any easier.

 The social worker was quiet as they sat in the living room, free from the small talk she’d attempted in her last visit. (Lexa stamped out the memories of what had happened during that visit, Jake and the Griffins protective and indignant on their behalf and not afraid to show it. The memory, just so recently a cherished one, now cut and stung like shattered glass.)

Lexa thought about all that had happened since Maya had last come to the house: that fateful soccer game, their camping trip, Christmas…Clarke. Oh, god. Just another issue really better left untouched by her social worker. Lexa would have no idea what to say about it at the current moment, anyway.

Maya watched them quietly for a moment, looking as pale and young as ever. Lexa, under her tension and numbness and all-around tiredness, idly wondered if she’d yet had to deal with this sort of situation with any of her other cases.

“Hello, girls,” she finally said, her voice quiet. “How are you doing?”

When it became clear that Anya wasn’t going to look up from the carpet, much less say something – Lexa had had to text her, call her, and finally remind her in person to be here for this meeting, though she knew her sister would rather be doing literally anything else – Lexa wearily stepped up, though her shrug and short reply – “Dealing with it” – weren’t overly impressive, either.

Maya nodded, her face impressively clear of any emotion, skepticism or otherwise. The last time Lexa had seen her had been at the funeral; she’d been solemn there, too, offering her condolences to Dr. Griffin and an unresponsive Clarke, and, after attending the reception for a polite amount of time, seeing her way out. She hadn’t approached Lexa and Anya there, other than to say hello, but Lexa had felt her eyes on them for much of the proceedings, and knew they’d be hearing from her soon. Sure enough, a few days later, an emotionless Dr. Griffin had informed them that their social worker would be coming to see them soon.

And now, here they were.

“It’s been a few days since I saw you last,” Maya said carefully, watching them. “I…wanted to give you some time. To process.”

To process. As if there was a way to arrange everything in a neat logical order, as if it could be understood.

“I was and am so very sorry to receive this news,” Maya continued after a pause. “Mr. Griffin was a good man. I was always impressed by his commitment to you, and admired his determination and optimism. He…” She hesitated. “He clearly cared about you both – in our sessions he’d often talk about how happy he was to have you staying here.”

Lexa managed a nod, not sure if she wanted Maya to keep talking about him or never breathe a word about it again. Which would be more painful? A thought occurred to her as the entirety of the social worker’s comments sunk in. “Your sessions?”

Maya looked surprised. “Um, yes— they didn’t mention them?”

Anya raised her head a little, for the first time, and Lexa shook her head. Maya eyed them, before elaborating: “As you know, I was a bit…concerned about the unorthodox manner in which the Griffins became your foster family. So, at my request, Dr. and Mr. Griffin came in to see me twice a month, apart from the standard registration processes.”

“What did you talk about?”

“You,” Maya said simply. “And them. I wanted to ensure they were a good fit for the system, and for you two specifically.” She smiled a little. “Suffice it to say, after a few sessions most of my concerns were taken care of. They both are— were— invested in your wellbeing. Mr. Griffin, especially, always impressed me with his warmth. He was a very likeable person. If I may…” She hesitated. “I think you all were a great match for each other.”

Lexa almost wished she’d never asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anya’s jaw tense before her sister returned to burning a hole in the carpet.

There was another long pause. Finally, Maya, looking torn, let out a breath. “Anya, Lexa. Let me be straightforward with you. As your social worker, my responsibility, first and foremost, is to ensure your wellbeing, mentally and physically.”

She looked at them expectantly, and when it became clear no response was forthcoming, awkwardly forged on: “And part of that means ensuring that you’re living in a stable environment that is…conducive to both those things.”

Lexa’s gaze, from where it had drifted off to the photo of the Griffins on the mantel, snapped back to Maya. Now they were coming to the crux of the matter. “What are you saying?”

Maya cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable at the sudden intensity directed at her. “Lexa…part of the reason the Griffins were cleared to retain care of you was the stable, healthy home they were able to provide. The strength of their family bonds. I…I hate to say this, but that environment is clearly no longer present.”

She hastily continued when Lexa opened her mouth to interject. “This is in no way meant to be a criticism of the Griffins. This is a  _tragedy_ , and I’m sorry that we even have to have this conversation. I know Dr. Griffin and Clarke are mourning, which is of course completely understandable. But  _you_  are my wards.  _Your_  health and stability is my primary concern. And…I’m concerned that those things are in jeopardy here.”

She stopped there, looking at them hesitantly, clearly bracing for a reaction.

Well, Lexa was more than happy to give her one; she’d barely been able to keep a lid on her rising temper the longer the social worker had spoken. She opened her mouth to let loose—

“I have to give it to you. That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard in a while.”

Her mouth clicked shut in surprise, and she turned to see Anya no longer staring at the carpet and instead fixing a truly incensed glare on Maya, her eyebrows drawn down and seeming just short of baring her teeth.   

Well, that’s not quite how Lexa would have put it, but at the moment she was so pissed she couldn’t bring herself to feel much mortification on her sister’s behalf. Far from it, in fact.

Maya drew in a surprised breath. “Anya, what—”

“No, you’ve said your piece. Which was bullshit, did I mention that?”

(Lexa may have restrained a mild wince at that.)

“I mean, you’re just unbelievable,” Anya continued, lacing each word with pure derision. “It’s just a little  _fucking_  funny that the system is so goddamn worried about our wellbeing, after not giving a shit for the last ten-plus years. The Griffins have been the best foster family we’ve had in years. They’ve given us a  _home_. And now,  _now_ , that this…” She paused, clenching her teeth, before forcing out, “ _this_  has happened, you expect us to dip? To just ditch Dr. Griffin and Clarke? ‘Sorry, guys, I know you just lost your husband and father in the shittiest way possible, but we’re actually gonna go?’” She shook her head disgustedly. “What the  _fuck_. How did you ever think we would be okay with that?”

There was a long, awkward silence after that.

Maya looked utterly shell-shocked, face drained of what little color it’d had in the first place. Just when Lexa thought she’d had to speak up, though, the social worker surprised her by clearing her throat. “I know the system has failed to properly serve you and Lexa, Anya,” she said, her voice soft. “And you’re right to be angry about that. We talked about this the last time I came, you know how much I regret it. But I…I can only control the present. And I’m trying to do what’s best for you girls.”

Anya just shook her head again, evidently done with the entire topic, directly a final scathing look at Maya before shifting to glare at the wall. Lexa cast a glance at her sister before sighed and straightening. “Anya was a little…direct.” She waited until Maya looked at her. “But she wasn’t wrong.”

Maya’s face fell a little more, but Lexa wasn’t done. “Ms. Vie. You shouldn’t mistake our stance as personal dislike. You seem sincere enough, and your concern is…appreciated. But it all does feel too little, too late. Anya is aging out very soon, and will take me with her. The Griffins have… _had_ ,” she amended, unable to hide a wince, “ _before_ , told us that we could stay, even after Anya turns eighteen.” She squared her shoulders. “We need to speak with Dr. Griffin. Even if that is…no longer the case, we will stay at least until then. We won’t leave them.”

Maya looked at her, considering; Lexa returned the stare as calmly as she could, ignoring the anxiety and dread that coursed through her. Finally, the social worker sat back, tiredly rubbing her hands over her face. “Well, you two have certainly made your case clear, that’s for sure.”

Lexa didn’t reply, still watching her, and Maya looked down at her hands for a moment, clearly in thought, before continuing. “Regardless of anything else, I do want what’s best for you two. And I respect that you’re at an age where you have some ideas for yourselves of what that may be. So I’ll take this back to the agency. But…” She sighed, and Lexa’s eyes narrowed.

Maya continued, her voice very gentle. “Lexa. You and Anya are grieving. It is still very fresh. These emotions, and your reactions, are  _normal_. I don’t blame you for wanting to stay with the Griffins. In fact, I think it is very noble. But you need to consider what is also best for  _them_.”

Anya’s head raised at that. Maya eyed her, before saying, “Dr. Griffin now, unfortunately, has many challenges before her. She and Clarke will have to adjust to a new life, without a very central figure. It will not always be easy, and likely quite painful. It’s just a fact that having two additional teenagers to take care of will contribute…additional stress. When traumatic events like these occur, we do not advise shifting foster children out of the home as a punishment, but rather out of  _compassion_. As an acknowledgement that the situation may no longer be tenable for either side.”

Lexa sat back, staring at Maya. She had never considered this idea, that her and Anya’s continued presence may be an unbearable burden for Dr. Griffin; from the way Anya’s hands were balling into white-knuckled fists she knew it was the same for her.

Maya sighed, clearly not thrilled with having to delve into this topic. “I just think you should consider all sides before we move further.  Like I said, I’ll take back what you said to the agency, so just…think about it, okay?”

They nodded mutely, and she straightened. “In the meantime…get some rest, girls. I know this has been a very difficult time. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need someone to talk to, or anything else.”

Another round of nods, and after a few more minutes, she was gone with a promise to be in touch, seeing herself out. Lexa collapsed against the couch cushions, completely drained. She’d expected it to be a not terribly pleasant conversation, but this…she didn’t even know where to start. Anya followed suit, and the sisters stared blankly ahead, minds churning with all that Maya had brought up.

“Lex.”

Lexa blinked, not expecting Anya to speak. Aside from her outburst today, she’d hardly gotten ten words out of her sister recently. “Yeah.”

“This sucks.”

Lexa turned fully at her at that; she didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been  _that_. And then, to her horror, she felt her lips twitching. Something about the way Anya had said it, its sheer unexpectedness…she couldn’t help herself, and her first strangled snort turned in short order to poorly-muffled chuckles. Anya gaped at her for a moment, aghast, but clearly it must’ve been contagious, because within a second they were leaning against each other, both snorting with hysteria-driven laughter.

Too soon, though, that hysteria-tinged laughter shifted into a horrible Frankenstein mishmash of laughter and sobs, almost indistinguishable from the other. Lexa pressed her face to Anya’s shoulder, feeling her tears soak into her sister’s hoodie. She knew they must’ve made an insane picture, but she found in that moment she couldn’t stop or, frankly, care less.  The last two weeks had been an unceasing nightmare, with no release. Her body seemed to have finally had enough.

Eventually, they finally regained some semblance of control, and slumped there on the couch, both feeling even more drained than before, if that was even possible. Lexa stared at the wall. “An.”

“Yeah.”

“What are we gonna do?”

Anya stiffened, casting her a sideways glance before flicking her gaze back to the couch. She reached out between them, catching Lexa’s hand in an iron grip. “Hell if I know.”

They stayed that way for a moment, the sheer awfulness of the situation settling over them. Lexa swallowed, already hating her next question. But she had to know. The question had been eating her alive. “Are you…are you mad at me?” Her voice was very small.

Anya turned sharply to her. “What do you—” Her gaze sharpened, and she let go of Lexa’s hand to grip her shoulders. “Lexa. No. Don’t do this to yourself, for god’s sake. What happened…it was a freak accident. He could’ve left the house for a thousand reasons.”

Lexa felt several tears slide down her face, unbidden. “But—”

Anya’s grip tightened. “No. You can’t let this guilt seep into you, dammit. It was an accident – it was  _no one’s_ fault. You  _know_  Mr. Griffin would say the same thing. He’d hate for you to feel this way.”

Lexa bit her lip, but managed a nod. She knew that, sometimes, but then she’d see the day’s paper, folded and unread, on the doorstep, or the extra set of BMW keys untouched in the foyer, and want to crumple in on herself all over again.

Anya peered at her, before pulling Lexa roughly to her in a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Lex. We’ll figure this out. I’ll talk to Dr. Griffin.” She sighed. “I’ve been avoiding her. Need to cut that shit out, anyway.” After a pause, she added, her voice soft, “Been avoiding you, too. Sorry, sis.”

Lexa shrugged against her. She knew her practically as well as she did herself, and didn’t hold it against her; they were both dealing with things as best they could. They stayed that way for long minutes, both needing the contact more than they cared to admit. With everything cast into uncertainty, it was good to be reminded that, in the absence of all else, they always had each other.

Too lost in drawing comfort from each other, neither noticed the sound of feet creeping back upstairs.

 

**

It had been a long day, and Lexa was relieved when it drew to a close. Maya’s visit had exhausted her completely, emptying her of all emotional reserves, and she was looking forward to nothing more than collapsing into her bed and slipping into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

After showering and eating the pizza Dr. Griffin had ordered from the hospital – where she seemed to be, more often than not, these days – she was ready to do just that.

Before she could, though, she still had one last task to perform. One she was, if she was being honest with herself, not entirely looking forward to, but one she would also never think twice about carrying out.

Lexa collected two slices of pizza and a pack of pepper flakes before heading for the stairs. The climb to the second floor had never seemed so long, each creak louder than it ever had been. After an interminable walk, she finally reached her destination…and stopped.

Lexa had walked past it countless times without a second thought. But now, in this new reality, Clarke’s closed door had never been so seemed so imposing, so final.

She stared at it, uncertainty settling over her. This wasn’t her first time doing this, but it never got any easier…and after today’s unsettling conversation with Maya, she felt only more unsure.

It didn’t help that she truly didn’t know where she stood with Clarke, a fact that frightened her more than anything else. The girl had crumpled into herself, and Lexa’s attempts to reach out had thus far been entirely unsuccessful; indeed, she’d barely  _spoken_  to Clarke since the funeral – the closest she’d gotten was defusing several increasingly tense interactions she’d walked in on between Clarke and Dr. Griffin, who, it was clear, was also confronting – or failing to confront – her emotions in a similarly unhealthy manner.

Lexa, in her darker moments, was beginning to realize just how much a necessary buffer and salve Jake had acted as between mother and daughter; though she knew better than to ever tell either of them, it seemed to her a large part of the strain between them stemmed from just how similar they were. Jake had seemed to recognize this, and always knew when and how to step in, and when to stay out of it.

He was gone now, and without their mediator, and in the midst of their terrible grief, Lexa could already see how things were breaking down. Dr. Griffin had shifted to almost complete avoidance, of Clarke and likely of her feelings, and was taking on an insane number of shifts at the hospital, while Clarke…Lexa didn’t know  _what_  Clarke had shifted to, and that scared her the most.

Lexa could see the problems. She just didn’t know what to do about them. Maya’s words rang in her head – “You need to consider what is also best for  _them_ ” – and she cringed. For all she knew, it could very well not even be her place to worry about this. Maybe they really would be better off with her and Anya adding to their worries.

But that was something (yet another thing) to worry about later. Right now, she was stalling in front of Clarke’s bedroom door.

She squared her shoulders and raised her fist, knocking once, twice. There was no answer, but that wasn’t overly surprising at this point. Lexa knocked again, for good measure, but after another minute with no reply decided to go for it. She tried the knob – to her relief it was unlocked – and, swallowing hard, turned it, opening the door a few inches.

“Clarke? It’s me.”

Still no reply. She opened the door wider, enough to poke her head in, and saw Clarke curled into a ball on the edge of her bed. Lexa let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Are you up?”

The lump on the bed didn’t reply, and after a moment Lexa decided to go further. She eased her way inside, wincing at the state of the room; Clarke had never been exactly neat, but in the last weeks the room had reached a new level of chaos. Lexa had been discreetly clearing mugs and dishes – many still filled with food left untouched – whenever she could, but it hardly made a dent in the general disarray. What had hurt to see, though, were the sketches of Jake, solo or in groups, all torn down. Clarke’s walls had never been so bare.

 She cleared her throat and took a step to the bed, hesitant as she’d never before been in Clarke’s room. “I…brought dinner. Pizza.” She tried to inject some cheer into her voice. “Pepper flakes too, just how you like it.”

Clarke didn’t say anything, and Lexa let out a small sigh. Maybe she  _was_  sleeping, but Lexa’s nerve didn’t extend to actually going to check, and anyway Clarke in general seemed resolved to ignore her existence entirely. Though Lexa couldn’t deny how much it hurt, perhaps it was better than the other girl out-and-out hating her.

Maybe.

Lexa moved to the desk, piled high with general detritus, and after some rearranging found a reasonably safe place to set the plate down. She cast a quick glance back at Clarke, who was faced away from her, and grabbed a few of the older dishes to take down to the kitchen. She had no idea if Clarke knew she was doing it, but it really didn’t matter; she cared about Clarke, no matter how the other girl felt towards  _her_ , and she’d be there for her any way she could.

Arms full, she straightened and turned back to the door. “Eat it, okay? You need to eat something tonight, Clarke.”

Duty done, she stepped to the door, trying to juggle the various dishes to free a hand and open the door.

“So that’s it, huh?”

Lexa nearly dropped a mug, barely keeping her cargo together as she pivoted to the bed. “W-what?”

Clarke had turned onto her back, her eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling. “So that’s it?”

Lexa stared at her, mind shorting in out in utter surprise. Clarke had barely been speaking to her. She _hadn’t_ been speaking to her. And now…this. It was impossible to tell what Clarke was thinking, where her mind was. Lexa was almost afraid to find out. “I…don’t know what you mean.”

Clarke finally looked at her, and Lexa tried not to flinch at the derision, the burning anger, and, strangely, the real betrayal in her eyes. “You’re leaving, then?”

Lexa almost dropped her armload in her haste to deposit it all back on the desk, needing to face Clarke freely, before wheeling on her, perplexed. “Clarke, what—”

Clarke pushed herself up, her rumpled appearance and dark circles under her eyes not doing anything to make her any less imposing. “I _heard_ you. Today. With Maya.” A flash of what could only be hurt flickered in her eyes before it was swallowed up again by anger.

 Oh, no. Lexa looked at her, mouth open in dismay. Anything Clarke could’ve heard – Maya’s suggestion, her warning about the Griffins – any of it would’ve been enough for her to draw the worst conclusions. Shit, _shit_. Lexa had barely had enough time to even register the meeting for herself, let alone share it with anyone. Especially not Clarke.

Seeing the hurt in Clarke’s eyes now was reason enough for that.

Clarke returned her stare, before scoffing, seeming to take Lexa’s stunned silence as confirmation. “Wow. That’s…that’s really amazing.” She laughed, a cheerless sound steeped in bitterness. “I can’t— I can’t believe I _thought_ —“ Her voice broke, and she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut – though not before Lexa could see the way they shone with tears.

Lexa finally found her voice, snapping out of it. “Clarke, _no_.” She moved without thought to the bed, arms stretched out beseechingly, though Clarke’s glare kept her from trying to actually sit on it. “I— that’s not, we’re not—”

“Oh, come on, Lexa,” Clarke interrupted, eyes blazing as she spat the words. “God, give me a little credit, would you? Your social worker couldn’t have been more clear. So, what, shit got too tough for you and you decided you couldn’t hack it? My dad _dies_ and you, you decide to dip, go start over with a new family? Better luck next time?”

Lexa stood stock still under the tirade, each word jagged with pain and cutting her just as keenly. Clarke had never looked so broken, and Lexa’s own eyes filled with tears to see her in such a state. At this last sentence, though, she couldn’t stand it any longer, walking straight to the edge of the bed so that she was only a few inches from Clarke. They stared at each other for several long, horrible seconds, their pain reflected in each other’s eyes. Finally, Lexa said, her voice soft, “How…how could you say that? Even _think_ that?”

Clarke looked away for a split second, before squaring her shoulders. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking. “How could _you_ want to leave?”

“I _don’t_ ,” Lexa cried, the last vestiges of her patience snapping. She knew Clarke was lashing out, was coming from a place of terrible pain, but at the current moment she just didn’t have anything left to give. “I haven’t even thought about it – Maya brought it up today! And even if I did, it would be for you! To give _you_ the space you seem to want!”

Clarke shook her head, unheeding of the tears sliding down her face. “What does that even mean?”

“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks, Clarke,” Lexa said wearily. “Tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

Clarke looked down for a long moment, taking a shuddering breath. “I…I couldn’t…” She shook her head again, her hair obscuring her face. “Just everything...you, and my…my dad…” She trailed off, her shoulders shaking in earnest now.

The frustration rising in Lexa’s chest abruptly dissipated, replaced by nothing but heartbreak and an unpleasant edge of guilt. She had been so swept up in her emotions that she’d failed to consider Clarke, to consider the maelstrom of isolation and grief and loathing the other girl was no doubt swept up in. Lexa had her own pain, but she wasn’t the one who’d lost a _father_. “Clarke…”

The girl didn’t say anything, and after a moment Lexa sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hesitant hand. “Clarke, I’m sorry.”

Clarke let out a breath, looking up at Lexa with tear-filled eyes. “Lexa, how…how could you leave? How could you leave _me_?”

Lexa couldn’t take it anymore, and acting purely on instinct pulled Clarke into her arms; the girl came willingly, pressing her face to Lexa’s neck. They stayed that way for a moment, the only sound in the room their equally shaky breaths. When Lexa spoke, her voice was quiet. “It’s okay, Clarke. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

Clarke’s shoulders shook, and Lexa said nothing when she felt wetness on her skin, just wrapping her arms around the other girl and holding on tight, repeating the words like a mantra. “I’m right here, Clarke…I’m right here.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever for reading.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild update appears! 
> 
> (Crank up that Sufjan Stevens' [Carrie & Lowell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dsGODTySH0E&list=PL67VKSNJdY_XBvoFECHFKyesxnDhTVM8N) if you really want to get deep into your feels fam)

Time wore on, as it always did. Sometimes Clarke couldn’t quite come to terms with the fact that time  _would_  go on, that the hours would continue to turn into days and weeks, morning into night again and again like nothing had happened; that life would continue on in the world as if everything was normal and the world hadn’t been rocked on its axis.

But it did, with almost insulting regularity.

She didn’t know what to feel, or how to feel it. She’d awoken, somewhat, from the deep, unreachable place in which she’d been submerged since…since.

But she didn’t know how to accept this reality, one in which her father wasn’t there. There, to provide jokes and comfort. To talk her down after a fight with her mom. To listen to her problems. To be there, for her.

Oh, she knew all about the “stages” of grief. But something told her, no matter how much she moved on, that on some level, this was one thing she would never be able to accept.

 

**

Lexa let out a long breath as she closed the door behind her. It was always a small relief to leave the therapist’s office; though she had, after Maya’s increasingly insistent offers, agreed to receive grief counselling, there was a part of her, the ever-suspicious child of the foster system, that still shied away from this willing sharing of herself, especially with a stranger.

She had to talk down this part of herself every time, but it was, after several sessions, starting to get easier, and she could admit that the sessions were helping; though she had initially agreed in part to keeping Maya amenable to having them stay with the Griffins, that wasn’t the only reason. Mr. Griffin’s death had revived all sorts of painful moments in her past, and after the third night of waking from a nightmare about her parents knew she had to talk to someone or go mad.

It had taken much longer, and required the discreet recruiting of Raven by way of a carefully worded text, to get Anya on the same page – her sister’s aversion to professionals and talking about her  _feelings_  was several magnitudes larger than Lexa’s, and only after a concerted campaign waged by both Raven and Lexa had she finally relented, and  _only_  after Lexa had successfully positioned it as something Anya was doing for  _her_.

(She suspected that both sisters were aware of the polite fiction in place, but Lexa had no problem going along with it if it spared Anya’s pride and got her into a therapist’s office.)

As for herself, after she had defeated her own hesitance, and gotten over the initial awkwardness, she found it comforting to talk to someone separate from… _everything_. The last six months had contained a dizzying array of changes, and having a neutral party there to help her unpack all of it was surprisingly freeing. She was starting to feel, for the first time since that day, that she could breathe, and, better yet, that there were still ways to move forward; this wasn’t the end.

Her pace slowed momentarily, the hope in that thought dimming, as the person never far from her thoughts made her usual appearance; this time in the glum realization that this was the way Lexa wanted  _Clarke_  to feel, or at least to know that it was  _possible_  to feel. She knew, of course, that Clarke was still deep in her mourning; it had barely been a month since Jake’s passing. Lexa was still struggling with her own grief and guilt, therapy or no therapy, and she fully empathized with Clarke’s enduring suffering – the girl’s father had died. That wasn’t something that would heal overnight. (Or, a dark part of her mind added, maybe ever.)

But Clarke…she wasn’t doing well. Lexa had thought, after that confrontation they’d had in Clarke’s room some days ago, that she’d gotten through to the other girl, or at least shaken her from the deeply worrying fugue state she’d been sinking into. She wasn’t so naïve to think that that single outpouring of emotion would be enough to fix Clarke, or fix them – hardly – but she  _had_  hoped that maybe with the air somewhat cleared between them she could actually do something to  _help_  the girl. But now…she wasn’t so sure.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been. At least, Lexa didn’t think so. Despite retreating into distance in the immediate aftermath of that blowout – understandable, as Lexa had needed her own space after as well – Clarke no longer outright ignored Lexa, instead actually engaging with her, and even on occasion allowing herself to be comforted. But…Lexa knew she still wasn’t sleeping, and having nightmares of her own – Lexa had woken her from more than a few. And she still rarely left her room; if Lexa wanted to check on her, she more often than not had to go to Clarke to do it.

And every time she did, the circles under Clarke’s eyes were deeper, the strain in her face more apparent. Lexa was almost beside herself with worry, and wanted nothing more than to be there for the girl she cared about so deeply, to just  _ask_  how she could help…but she didn’t know how. Even after that day, and the apparent ceasefire they’d reached, it wasn’t as it had been. The closeness they’d shared, that complete ease and developing intimacy – Lexa didn’t know if it was  _gone_ , exactly – Clarke certainly wasn’t permitting Anya or, sadly, her own mother to comfort or see her like she was Lexa – but it was warped, now, and not the same. Not that Lexa was expecting it to be, of course not; she herself was  _far_  from ready for anything even resembling a return to that, after everything that had happened. (And at the present, even the vaguest wondering about the future brought more anxiety than it did hope, never more potently than after a check-up on Clarke.) She didn’t think either of them knew what they were to each other, now, and she’d be the first to admit neither was in a place to explore or even approach it.

Another thing to discuss in her sessions, she supposed, as she exited the clinic and settled down on one of the benches outside to wait for her ride.

But regardless of her own guilt, and the endless new complications that swirled around them, Lexa’s knew for herself that her feelings for Clarke remained unchanged. She had never expected to fall so hard or so fast, but like she had told Mr. Griffin in the kitchen that day, it had just… _happened_. And now, after everything, she cared just as deeply, even as she slowly realized that what they’d had may never be fully regained. At least not with Clarke as she currently was.

Lexa had never been selfish, though, especially with the ones she loved; regardless of what Clarke could or couldn’t be to her, she would do whatever  _she_  could, for as long as she could.

Clarke was in a bad way, and in a strange place – Lexa was convinced more than ever that the girl, more than anything else, needed to get help, the kind that couldn’t come from her. The look in Clarke’s eyes scared Lexa, sometimes, a kind of thousand-yard stare that looked straight through her, and she knew her own efforts wouldn’t be enough. She thought she helped a little, sometimes, but Clarke needed so much more.

In desperation, she’d recruited Wells and Raven to come visit – the two had been more than willing, and appeared at her doorstep one Friday afternoon, both just about bursting with desperate worry, having thus far stayed away, alluding to what Lexa understood to be  _very_  clear instructions from Clarke. (Lexa also knew that Clarke’s friends would have disregarded those instructions in a moment if they had dire fears, but apparently their concerns had floated just at the cusp of respecting her wishes and maintaining their distance. At her notice, though, they had been all too relieved to come over, if only to see Clarke and get a read on her for themselves.) She’d left them to it, perfectly relieved to give Clarke time with her oldest and closest friends and hoping it would do some good.

Her fledgling hopes had been dashed, though, at sight of their faces as they’d left Clarke’s room (not that she’d been worriedly hovering in the hallway near her door, of course not); Raven had unceremoniously grabbed Lexa’s hand and steered her into her own room, Wells right behind, and as soon as the door shut had turned to her and said, ever to the point, “Jesus Christ, Lexa.”

Lexa nodded miserably as she collapsed onto her bed, torn between her worry and some kind of bizarre relief that others were seeing the same thing she was. “I know.”

Raven shook her head, running a hand through her loose hair as she sank into Anya’s desk chair. “I mean,  _fuck_. She’s…it’s… _fuck_.”

Lexa hadn’t bothered replying; she was sure her expression said more than enough. Wells, standing by the door, arms crossed, nodded along, brow creased with concern. “Seriously, Lexa. I’ve known Clarke since we were five. I’ve never seen her like this. It’s bad. I mean…” he cleared his throat, looking away. “Mr. Griffin was a really great guy, like, one of my favorite people. Clarke loves him so much…”

“So it’s not surprising?” Lexa finished, not bothering to correct his use of present tense.

He shrugged. “I’m not surprised that she is the way she is, right now. But…and I have no idea what the ‘right’ way for this to all happen is… the Clarke in that room is not okay. At all. Which, I mean, is to be expected, but…” He let out a breath, looking to Raven.

“She should’ve been in counselling, like,  _yesterday_ ,” Raven finished. “She needs help, dude. She’s hardly been replying to our texts, you say she’s barely leaving her room – forget going to school – and looked straight through us, which, by the way, was fucking terrifying. And you say this is  _better_ than before?”

 Lexa scrubbed her hands over her face, unsure of how to explain the completely unapproachable void Clarke was those first days. “She didn’t get out of bed before, and she at least sort of talks to me now, so…yes.”

 Raven peered at her, before abruptly softening. “I’m sorry. I…you’ve been dealing with so much terrible shit right now, and I know you’re going through a lot on your end on top of it all. I’m just…this is such a goddamn mess. Clarke is not okay.”

Lexa let out a strangled laugh. “I see you’re beginning to see my point.” She proceeded to rub at her eyes, under the guise of soothing the tiredness from them but really scrubbing away at wetness that was gathering there, and looked up in time to see Raven and Wells glance at each other before Wells spoke again, hesitant. “So…um…where is Dr. Griffin?”

 Lexa had had to choke down on another highly inappropriate laugh. Wasn’t _that_ the million dollar question. “Hospital, probably. She’s picked up a ton of extra shifts lately.”

They stared at her for a long moment before Raven snorted. “Right, because _that’s_ healthy.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “God. These avoidant-ass Griffins. No wonder they’re at each other’s throats, they’re just too damn similar for their own good.”

“Probably not an observation I would voice to either of them at the current juncture,” Lexa replied wryly.

Raven rolled her eyes. “Right. Jesus, you really _are_ dealing with a lot of shit right now. How are you holding up?”

The unexpected question, no less sincere for its characteristic abruptness, had caught Lexa by surprise, and she took a moment to answer. “Um…I’m okay.” She let out a breath. “Better than I was. I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“That’s good to hear,” Wells said. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with all of this, Lexa. And…I’m sorry for your loss.” He shrugged a little when she looked at him, confused. “I know you were close to Mr. Griffin too.”

“I…” she’d had to clear the sudden tightness from her throat. “I guess I was. Thanks, Wells. I’m sorry, too.”

They’d left soon after that, with promises to visit frequently and to see Lexa soon in school – she was due to return to class the following week, despite her uncertainties, and despite Clarke not appearing anywhere ready to return with her. Before she’d left, Raven had pulled Lexa aside, letting her know she was going to meet up with Anya and hopefully convince her to do the same.

Whatever she’d done, it had apparently worked, because come that Monday Anya had silently risen with Lexa and the two had gotten ready together before waiting outside for Wells to arrive, neither commenting on the situation. The return to school had been strange and exhausting, even with all her teachers going out of their way to help her get back up to speed (and a surprise visit from Gus in the cafeteria one day to personally deliver his condolences, a thoughtful act that had moved Lexa into choked up silence). But even despite her weariness Lexa found the return to a familiar routine strangely comforting; it was one known factor in a landscape made strange and unknowable overnight.

And it was a return to routine that, Lexa believed, would enormously benefit Clarke. But the idea of the other girl getting up and going to school and attending class and doing homework was almost laughable at the current moment, when she was hardly leaving her bedroom. Clarke needed help. Everyone who saw her knew that. Lexa had, in moments of supreme courage, attempted to float the idea of talking to someone with her, but Clarke always just acted as if she hadn’t heard her, and the careful suggestions went nowhere.

But Lexa also knew that she had limited agency in this area, anyway. There was really someone else who should’ve been talking to Clarke about this, someone who had the ability and the power to take definitive action if they deemed necessary.

Unfortunately, that person wasn’t in much better shape.

She was shaken from her glum musings by the approaching sound of tires on pavement, and looked up to see her ride – and the subject of her latest thoughts – pulling up. Lexa forced a smile, sliding into the passenger seat of the Audi and taking a fortifying breath before looking over at the driver.

Grief had taken its toll on Dr. Griffin. Lines were carved deep into her face, and an air of unapproachable exhaustion and weariness hung over her.

Lexa eyed her, seized by the same hesitance and uncertainty that fell on her when around Clarke. While it wasn’t all the same, of course, the crux of the matter – Lexa’s own deep guilt about her role in everything, and her internal paralyzing fear about what sort of resentment the Griffin women may harbor towards her now – remained unchanged.

In all fairness, her anxiety was largely coming from within; while Clarke was the farthest thing from okay, and acting accordingly, she had never said anything to indicate that she personally blamed _Lexa_ for what had happened. For Dr. Griffin’s part, in a show of enormous magnanimity, she had pulled Lexa and Anya aside a few days after the funeral and, despite Lexa’s stomach-curdling fear at the time, simply assured them that, the state’s actions notwithstanding, she stood by what she and Jake had promised them – a home, open to them, should they so desire, for as long as they wanted. Her voice had broken here, and though she’d shortly excused herself her resolve had been clear.

That had been then, though. It had shortly after become clear to Lexa that Dr. Griffin had been operating on a sort of shock-driven autopilot those first days after Mr. Griffin’s death, going into a survival mode to allow her to make it through the dizzying amount of paperwork and logistics that, cruelly enough, came with a loved one’s passing.

After that spell had worn off, Lexa had hoped Dr. Griffin might allow herself to truly feel her grief, if only because her mechanical going through the motions was beginning to truly unnerve Lexa and Anya both.

Instead, she had thrown herself headlong into her work, taking so many extra shifts at the ER that it seemed she was only ever home to drop off groceries or take a quick shower, with limited time in between for conversation. Lexa could count how many actual exchanges they’d had since the funeral and still have fingers left over.  

Lexa had little doubt this was by design.

As Raven had mirthlessly pointed out, Clarke and her mom were almost infuriatingly similar, and it seemed that where Clarke had retreated to her room, Abby had opted for the hospital, making no bones of their strategy of avoidance – of their loss, of the rawness of their emotions, of each other.

And that really was the heart of the matter. To Lexa, it was clear (exceedingly so, in Clarke’s case, and her personal impression of Dr. Griffin formed on the muted flashes of grief, gaping and exposed like an open wound, she’d seen on occasion in her eyes) that neither could, for the time being, stand to be around one another, meeting with fireworks on the odd occasion they _did_ come across the other for any extended amount of time – and those same fireworks ensuring that the two were doubly likely to avoid the other for an even longer amount of time after.

This, of course, was spectacularly unhealthy, and Lexa had privately fretted with Anya about the damage this flawed coping method – with its pent up grief and perhaps resentment – was dealing.

But where she could at least make careful suggestions and pleas to Clarke, she had no such option with Dr. Griffin – her heart fairly stopped in her chest at the mere consideration. With Clarke, Lexa felt she had some leeway, reinforced, if nothing else, by every time Clarke at least opened her eyes and listened to her, but with Dr. Griffin – she had no right.

The woman had lost her husband. And despite the reminders of her therapist, and the lack of any recrimination from the doctor herself, Lexa still felt a certain amount of responsibility. How could she not? Yes, Jake could’ve left the house that night for any reason – hell, all of them could’ve left; it was hardly uncommon for them to go out to eat on Sunday evenings.

But she couldn’t help the pall of guilt that swept over her when she thought about that night. If she’d made Clarke talk to her dad, if they’d never kissed in the house, if they’d managed to wait until Anya aged out…if, if, if.

She’d been reminded time and time again in her sessions that such ruminations were unproductive, and caused needless self-suffering. And while she believed that, she knew it would just take time.

In the meantime, it didn’t make facing Dr. Griffin any easier.

The woman now turned to Lexa, a faint smile on her face. “Hi, Lexa. Have a good session?”

Lexa had had to give herself a twenty-minute pep talk before gathering the courage to tell Abby about Maya finding her a therapist and scheduling her a session, and even then had hauled Anya with her for moral support. To her credit, Abby hadn’t said anything other a mild agreement, even offering to help with pickups and drop-offs when she could. Lexa had wished then that she could urge Abby to be gentler with herself, to think of her health and of Clarke’s, but it wasn’t her place, and anyway just the first topic alone had exhausted her will.

Lexa nodded uncomfortably. “Yes, thanks. I…they’re helping.”

“Good.” Abby let out a breath, looking at the steering wheel and not seeming too comfortable herself. “That’s good.”

Conversation for the moment exhausted, she shifted the car into drive, and they started off. Lexa cast a glance at the doctor, noting again with a pang just how tired and worn she looked. While she perhaps hadn’t been as close to Abby as she had Jake, she still liked and cared for her, appreciating her more subtle warmth and protectiveness, and would always remember that it was Abby who had first found them in the ER and taken them in. Seeing her in this state hurt Lexa’s heart. She cleared her throat, sifting for something to say. “How’s the hospital?”

“Good, good. Quite busy, lots to do.”

“Oh. That’s…good.” Lexa resisted the urge to tip her head back and groan in frustration. It had never been this hard to talk to Dr. Griffin. She resolved to try again one last time, and, steeling herself, decided to test the waters. “So, um, talk to Clarke lately?”

She watched as Abby’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles white, and winced internally. Guess that was a no, then.

To her surprise, Abby replied after a moment, injecting her voice with some patently fake cheer. “Oh, here and there. Just so many people at the hospital need me right now, I’ve barely been home!”

 _Clarke_ needs you, Lexa silently replied. But she let it go, tipping her head back against the leather seat and subsiding into silence. Abby, it seemed, still wasn’t ready or willing to face reality, no doubt as that would entail looking at her own grief head on. Her word choice had been telling – people at the hospital needed her. Maybe this was one part of Abby’s world in which she felt she still had some control, after the floor had fallen out from under her.

And Lexa got it. She really did. But Clarke wasn’t okay, and, even if she wouldn’t admit it, neither was Abby.

One way or another, the center could not hold; things were going to come to a tipping point. It was only a question of when.

 

**

Sooner rather than later, as it turned out.

At least Lexa could say she wasn’t surprised.

She didn’t even know what happened exactly to set it off but, she gathered from Anya after, Dr. Griffin had made one of her quick stops at the house to drop off groceries, only a few days after that awkward conversation between her and Lexa in the car, and – probably to their mutual dismay – run into Clarke in the kitchen.

They’d exchanged a few strained sentences, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, and then, as Abby had finished putting things away and prepared to return to the hospital, Clarke had apparently made some barbed observation about her mother being in a rush to get back to the people “she actually cared about.”

Things had rapidly gone downhill after that.

Lexa had let herself in, returning from school, and walked into the sound of Dr. Griffin yelling, her voice jagged, “You have _no_ _idea_ what I’m dealing with—” only to be cut off by what could only be Clarke’s disbelieving laughter, though devoid of any actual cheer.

She’d dropped her bag without a second thought, rushing to the kitchen to find Clarke and Abby facing each other from opposite sides of the room, the island between them an uneasy no-man’s land; both were red in the face and eyes bright with tears, Abby still in her scrubs and Clarke her pajamas.

“You’re unbelievable,” Clarke was saying, the hurt shining through her despite her cutting sarcasm. “Are you always this self-absorbed, or is this just a new thing you’re trying out?”

Abby paled, though Lexa could see it was in rage rather than contrition. “You have _no_ right—”

“Like hell I don’t,” Clarke snapped. “Where have you been, mom? Dad is _dead_. Do you even care?”

Oh, god. The silence that stretched out after that was deafening. Lexa opened her mouth, desperate to intercede before either said anything to cause permanent damage, but Abby was already speaking, her face so pale Lexa felt legitimately worried. “Do I even care.”

Lexa winced. The words, repeated, sounded even worse. Clarke stared at her mother in silence, unrepentant.

“How could you even ask me that,” Abby continued, the measured tones of her voice not lessening its unforgiving steel. “Jake and I were married for seventeen years, together for twenty. I love – loved –” and here her voice cracked, “that man with everything I have. And you ask if I _care_?”

Clarke stood her ground, ignoring the tears visible on her face as weeks of pent up fury and grief ran through her. “You have a funny way of showing it. You’re _never here_. As far as I can tell, the only ones you really care about are your patients considering in the last month you’ve seen them ten times more than you have me! I lost my _father_!”

“And I lost my husband!”

The words, shouted, hung in the air between them, and for the first time Lexa wished she hadn’t been here to witness this, mediator or no. This was too painful, too raw – and that was just as an onlooker; what one had to be feeling to stuff that much agony into those words, Lexa didn’t want to imagine.

She must’ve shifted, because Clarke and Dr. Griffin broke from their unblinking stare-down to look sharply at the entryway, where she stood. Before she could say anything, Abby shook her head – Lexa thought she saw a flash of what might’ve been regret in her eyes – before gathering her coat and bag. “I can’t do this right now. They need me at the ER. I have to go.”

With that, Lexa watched her leave, and a moment later heard the roar of the Audi coming to life in the driveway – none of them had yet to step foot in the garage, let alone park in it, lest they see Jake’s beloved Jeep.

She turned back to Clarke, only to see a departing glimpse of blonde hair as the other girl stormed out of the kitchen.

Lexa stood there for a long moment, somewhat defeated, before letting out a long breath and leaning back against the island. She hadn’t even said a word, but felt totally drained. She’d let Clarke go, cool off – nothing she could say in that moment would erase the hurt the other girl was feeling.

What a mess. She rubbed her forehead, considering, not for the first time, that she just may be a tad in over her head here.

 

**

Clarke barged into her room, slamming the door shut behind her and pacing furiously, her eyes roving and fingers twitching with restless energy as raw rage coursed through her. But there was little in the room to further damage; it was already a mess, the walls already bare, every sketch and poster she’d ever pinned up long since torn down. Giving up, she surged to her bed, pressing her face into a pillow and letting out a scream filled with all the loathing and bitterness that had been building up inside her.

Soon enough, though, those feelings spent themselves, leaving behind only the hurt that reached far deeper and, Clarke knew, would linger much longer. She sagged into the pillow, drained, unable to stop the tears that soaked into the sheet as highlights of the horrible encounter with her mother flashed through her mind. They had always had their differences, but it had never been like this; they could hardly be in the same room now without going for the other’s throat.

Clarke knew, in some distant logical part of her mind, that both of them were grieving, and neither of them dealing with their emotions in a healthy manner.

She also didn’t really care. Her dad was  _dead_ , and her mom, instead of being there for her, was, was…was at the  _hospital_!

Clarke was hurt, by so many things; but, in this moment, it was her mother’s handling of the matter that seemed to sting most sharply of all.

She turned onto her back, unheeding of the few tears that slid down her cheeks, and dully stared at the ceiling. It seemed like she’d been doing this a lot, lately, her emotions veering wildly between long patches of numbness and flares of wild, raging emotion – as the last ten minutes neatly illustrated. Was this what it was to grieve? Was this  _normal_  grief? She didn’t know, and she didn’t know how to handle it. She didn’t know what she needed. (Well, that wasn’t true; she needed her dad, but that was the source of this whole mess, wasn’t it?)

After a few minutes of this, she felt blindly for her phone, needing the comfort and reassurance that, these days, only one thing could bring. Recovering it, she quickly navigated to her saved voicemails, scrolling to the oldest one she could find and hitting play.

A moment later, her father’s voice rang out from the phone’s tinny speaker, and her eyes slid shut as she listened to the message he’d left months ago. “Hey, kiddo – one of these days you’ll answer your phone! I’m at the store right now, picked up some stuff for the burgers – and they’re having a great deal on ice cream, the good stuff too! None of that fake store-brand watered down nonsense. Honestly, it’s  _so_  bad—” A small smile tugged at Clarke’s lips as he continued to rag on store-brand ice cream. He’d always hated the stuff. “…don’t know why they sell it, really…but anyway, what flavors do you want? I already have pistachio, about to grab coffee, and I think we can hide at least two more flavors from your mom behind the frozen vegetables. I won’t tell if you won’t. Think about it and let me – ah shoot, gotta go, this lady is swooping in to grab the last coffee – ma’am, so sorry but that’s  _mine_ —”

The message cut off abruptly and Clarke chuckled despite herself, reliving the bemused amusement she’d felt the first time she’d heard the message almost a year before. She quickly thumbed to another message, needing to prolong the moment for as long as possible, and keep everything else at bay. The audio played, a short message asking when she was getting back from school, and from there she played another, and another, willingly submerging herself in her father’s voice and the memory of happier times.

After the sixth such message, though, the good vibes began to fade, the timestamps on the messages reminding her of the ultimate futility of her pastime. Desperate to ward off her encroaching bleakness, Clarke scrolled through the voicemails, thumb belatedly slowing only as she realized, with a sick pang, that she was nearing that horrible day.

She stared at the screen, and after a pause continued to scroll closer and closer to the date, suddenly unable to stop; she’d never dared venture this close to the day, but for whatever reason felt compelled to do so now. When she arrived at the date she stopped short. She hadn’t expected to find anything from that Sunday – she hadn’t left the house or received any calls. And yet, staring back at her, was a voicemail – from a number she didn’t recognize, and – her insides froze – from  _after_  her dad had left the house.

Clarke stared at the message, any hint of good cheer wiped clean away and replaced only with a kind of morbid fascination. Did she dare play it? She didn’t remember her phone ringing; no, she was  _sure_  her phone didn’t ring, by then she’d been worried enough to check the damn thing every ten seconds.

And yet, the voicemail begged to differ, almost mocking her with its impossible presence. After a second, she shook her head – who was she kidding, of course she was going to play it. It could be nothing – was  _probably_  nothing – but she had to know.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second, and then she hit play. After a seemingly infinite moment, the message began. At the first sound, her eyes widened, her heart stopping in her chest. She felt her hand form a vise around the phone, her knuckles stark white.

“Hi, Clarke,” her dad said. “Really hope you’ll get this.”

Clarke’s hand abruptly relaxed in pure shock, and she cursed as her phone bounced off the bed to the floor below. She scrambled to recover it, relaxing minutely to see the message was still intact, and resumed the voicemail, her heart pounding wildly.

“I’m at the restaurant, waiting for the food,” he continued. “Didn’t realize my phone was dead until I was halfway here, but the nice lady at the register is letting me use hers…the call doesn’t seem to be going through, though, I keep getting your voicemail. It might be the rain, it’s  _really_ coming down here.”

Indeed, his voice was slightly muffled by the sound of the storm raging outside the restaurant. Clarke swallowed, already feeling tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s alright, though,” Jake said. “I’ll talk to you soon enough, just wanted to get some things off my chest while I wait here.” He paused, and Clarke found herself holding her breath. “Listen, sweetheart...I know you’re a little upset right now. And that’s okay, because it just shows how much you care about Lexa. And I can see how much she cares about you. And as a parent, that’s all...that’s the number one thing I want for you, Clarke, for you to be happy. Because _I_  care about you. So much.” He let out a breath. “So don’t worry, okay? I know it’s a little bit complicated, but we’ll figure this out. It’s gonna be okay. I’ll see you when I get home. I love you.”

The message ended, and as the automated voice asked her if she wanted to repeat, save, or delete it, she let the phone fall to the mattress, curling into a ball, tears soaking into the pillow as her shoulders shook.

Her dad had tried to contact her. Her dad had left her a message. Wanted to work it out. Had  _loved_  her.  

She let out a sob, a wave of emotions crashing down on her so tangled she didn’t even know how to begin sorting it. But whatever else she was feeling was overshadowed by the overwhelming grief – because in that moment she wanted nothing more than to call him back, to apologize, to tell him she loved him too.

But she couldn’t, and in that moment the pain of that knowledge was as painful as it had ever been.

She didn’t know how long she lay there; it was all she could do to keep the despair from pulling her back under, and take her back to the dark, unreachable place she’d been trapped in the first few weeks after her dad’s death. She didn’t  _want_  to go back there. It had been the most painful, the lowest time of her life.  

Bowed under the weight of her grief, she didn’t register the knocking at the door, only realizing someone had entered when the bed dipped next to her and a gentle hand pressed to her back. Lexa. “Clarke? What’s wrong?”

For a moment, Clarke couldn’t muster a reply, any words choked off. She didn’t want to go back to that place. Lexa dipped into view, lips turned down and eyes wide with concern. “Clarke, hey. Talk to me.”

She didn’t want to go back. She  _couldn’t_  go back. Because if she fell back there…this time, she knew she may never emerge.

It was this thought that pushed the realization through, so forceful that she had to voice it. “Lexa, I…I think I need some help with this.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever for reading.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [DJ Khaled voice] ANOTHA ONE. 
> 
> Sorry for the long waits, folks. That's just how it's gonna be for a bit, I'm afraid. But my goal is to have this story wrapped up by the end of the year. Outline is finalized for the final time (heh), and this story will conclude in 23 chapters.
> 
> Appreciate everyone who's sticking with it! And now, for some uncomfortable heart-to-hearts...

This fucking sucked.

That was an understatement, of course, and a sentiment her therapist would poke and prod at until Anya wished she’d never said anything in the first place, but she’d never been one for complex expressions of emotion.

And anyway, she thought it rather summed up the situation neatly.

Because it did. It really, really, fucking sucked.

Jake was dead. The man Anya had been loath to trust, to like, to even come _close_ to, and who had, with all his unflagging patience and infuriating goodwill and damned _niceness_ made her do it anyway, was dead, and sometimes it felt like he’d taken the house with him.

Anya was no stranger to loss, and had known how it would all play out and watched it happen. Clarke had crumbled; there was no other way to describe it. She’d crumpled into herself, and only now, weeks later, and only with the unending presence and coaxing of Lexa (Lexa, her earnest, invested sister who would always care too damn much), was she beginning to show signs of dealing in a way that could be for the first time described as healthy, in the care of a grief counselor.

Lexa had been there every step of the way, and though Anya had told her several times, kindly and not so much, that it was not her responsibility, that she didn’t have to set herself on fire to keep others warm, Anya had known even then that the message would fall on deaf ears; it was not out of obligation or guilt that Lexa maintained her ministrations, Anya knew, but love.

That didn’t make it any easier to see, or to be around. Indeed, the Griffin residence had become for Anya in the days following Jake’s death so cloying and claustrophobic, becoming a nauseating mausoleum almost overnight, that she’d essentially had to flee, spending as much time out of the house as possible. The sharpness of the loss had resurrected the wound of every hurt she’d ever suffered, her poorly bottled rage bubbling at the surface seemingly every minute. Her mother, her father, Indra, every jackass foster parent and teacher and group home and social worker she’d ever been forced to endure.

She’d been so _angry_. It was as if Jake’s death had made fresh every other past loss, and true to form, her grief could only express itself in unadulterated fury.

It had been a grim couple of weeks, passing in a haze of avoidance – of Lexa, of the Griffins, the house, herself – so lost in the grip of her anger and loss that she couldn’t bear be around the people who would only aggravate it further, even if they, like Lexa, could also be a rare source of comfort. That avoidance pained and shamed Anya now – her only goal in life was to be there for her sister, no matter how strong Lexa proved to be on her own, and she’d shirked that duty – but in those first weeks it was all she could see.

The only thing that had kept Anya from losing it when she was at her lowest points was Raven. She had no idea what she was to the other girl – all she knew was, in the half year she’d known her, Raven had become the person, aside from Lexa, who she talked to everyday, and, even rarer, who she could always stand to be around.

Raven had been there when Anya could bear to near no one else, and who had kept her sane when it felt like nothing else could. And when even that had felt like it wasn’t enough – when her coach at the boxing gym the Griffins had signed her up for had finally practically kicked her out, concerned she would seriously damage her fists, and nothing else was letting her release her pitched emotions – it was Raven, she knew, who had worked with Lexa to get Anya finally into counselling.

Lexa had been the one to pitch it to her, had skillfully positioned it as something Anya could do to help Lexa, and though Anya had seen straight through her, and seen Raven’s hand in it and, later, in her carefully worded texts, Anya had given in.

Now, she’d (grudgingly) admit, several sessions in, it was helping – the therapist had access to her records and knew how to help her cope. There had just been so _much_ – with Jake gone, her raging bitterness at the world, its cruel capriciousness and how quickly and unfeelingly it could just take, and take, had come roaring to the surface. It had been a relief to find ways to manage it once more – for all her anger, and historically unwise ways of exercising it, Anya didn’t particularly _like_ feeling out of control.

So she was dealing. Sort of. Things had improved a little bit, or more accurate, were sucking a little less intensely than they had been, what with Clarke finally in therapy and breaking out of that scary-ass fugue state she’d been, and Anya and Lexa back in school and with therapists of their own.

But all that didn’t change the fact that things had changed, in a very real and permanent way. And no matter how much things “improved,” they could never go back to how they had been; Jake would always be gone. Anya knew that. Had lived that reality many times before – that you could never go back – and it seemed it was time to experience it once more.

It would have been less of a sluggish shift to this new reality if it wasn’t for one very conspicuous exception: Dr. Griffin.

To put it simply, Abby was _not_ dealing. Anya thought _she’d_ been avoidant, but the doctor put her to shame – Anya could count on two hands the number of times she’d seen her in the last few weeks. She could hardly judge – she could understand perfectly the need to stay away from this house – but as time had gone on she’d grown increasingly concerned and conflicted. Dr. Griffin was in pain, a serious, deep grief – and simultaneously was denying that pain and shoving it aside because of how much it hurt.

The longer she avoided it, and everything (every _one_ ) that went with it, the worse it would become when she finally did.

And in the meantime – Abby’s determined isolation was affecting people other than her. Anya could admit she herself, even as she sympathized, was a little hurt by Abby seemingly peacing out when she was needed most. But it wasn’t for herself that she was now growing more concerned – it was for Clarke.  

The girl had come a long way since those first terrible days, but Anya knew that any true recovery would require the active engagement and presence of her mother. Every day Abby maintained her absence, both physical and emotional, would only deepen Clarke’s hurt. Anya had heard their terrible fight in the kitchen that day, and knew then that it would be on Abby to bridge that gap; at the end of the day, no matter how deep her grief at the loss of her partner, she was Clarke’s _mother_. She needed to act like it.

Anya had kept her distance so far, respecting the doctor’s need for space and hoping that she would take the time to come to terms with it and then, of course, emerge to take control of the Griffin house once more, mending things with Clarke and helping them all heal.

But that hadn’t happened. And every time Anya _did_ see her, Abby was only looking worse, the lines of exhaustion in her face growing ever deeper. It was clear that her current policy of at-a-distance-parenting was only causing harm, to her and everyone around her.

Anya _really_ hadn’t wanted to do this. Like, at all. But since it seemed that no one else in Dr. Griffin’s life was willing to step up, she supposed she would have to do. Abby had been left to her own devices long enough, with no tangible progress; it was time she had a wake-up call.

 

**

 At what point in therapy was one considered ‘healed’? Did your therapist just clap their hands together at the end of a session one day and be like, “well done, you, you’re officially an adequately functioning human being, we’re clearly done here”?

Clarke was beginning to think that may not be the case.

She’d never had any kind of therapy before, and still didn’t really know how she felt about it. Especially considering the circumstances that had driven her to finally seek it out. (She still shuddered when she thought back to the miserable depths to which she’d sunk at the height of her misery; it was a feeling and time in her life she truly didn’t think she could survive twice. Hence, the therapy.)

But it was working. Or helping, anyway. She was still pissed at her mom, and still having nightmares about her dad, but she at least felt like she could breathe a little now. She wasn’t even sure what her preconceived notions had been about the whole thing, certainly she had had some – but regardless, in the here and now, it had become a surprising refuge. Clarke hadn’t realized how stifling her house had become – she’d spent so long shut away in her room, physically and mentally unable to leave; having somewhere to go, someone to talk to who was truly and completely unrelated to…everything, was a relief.

Actually, just having someone to talk to, _period_ , with no sense of obligation or burden attached, was remarkably freeing; before this, when she was still confining herself to her room, she’d gone whole days seeing no one but, perhaps, Lexa.

…Lexa. She was only now, as she slowly gained tools to help her cope (or at the very least function in the day-to-day), beginning to realize her treatment of the other girl, in the past weeks, hadn’t been entirely…fair. Clarke was learning to be merciful with herself, and could recognize she hadn’t fully been in control of herself…since, but looking back at the way she’d treated Lexa, some of the things she’d said, she still felt a very real pulse of shame. Lexa didn’t deserve any of it and indeed, had been there when Clarke couldn’t bear to be around anyone else. She’d tried to push everyone away, let herself sink into her sorrow and stay there. Lexa hadn’t let her.

Clarke knew she had to make it up to her, do something, _say_ something that would acknowledge what the other girl had done for her even as she’d no doubt gone through her own pain and grief. But the thought ran into a wall right about there, her mind uncomfortably recoiling. Because underneath the simple idea of an apology lay a whole tangled web of complex emotion – their relationship, feelings for each other. Clarke’s guilt. Whatever Lexa must be feeling, _had_ been feeling. All that had happened.

Clarke knew, if they ever wanted to have even the hope of moving forward, in _any_ capacity, they would have to get this all out in the open. It was something her therapist had already been starting to hint at more and more in their sessions, quickly cottoning on to all that Clarke wasn’t saying in her oblique mentions of Lexa.

If only that fact wasn’t so terrifying.

Before…before, the intensity of her feelings for Lexa had taken her by surprise, that she could feel so much for the other girl so quickly. Everything had been so new and exciting and filled with promise, only to come to a screeching halt that terrible night, when everything but her crushing horror and disbelieving despair were pushed to the wayside. When she _did_ think about her and Lexa’s…relationship – though they hadn’t even gotten far enough to put any kind of label on it – during that time, it was with pain and confusion: though the lion’s share of her loathing was reserved for herself, there was some definite distress about how their…thing had ultimately played into everything.

She was proud, at least, that that line of thought hadn’t gone too far – Lexa being, well, herself throughout it all, seemingly impervious to all of Clarke’s bullshit and checking in on her even on days when she was being, to be frank, a bitch, had served as a powerful reminder for Clarke, even as she grieved, as to just why she had fallen for the girl.

Which brought her to the crux of the matter. After all they’d been through in the past month, culminating in that episode after Clarke had eavesdropped on the sisters’ visit with Maya, they’d settled into a sort of sort of-not-quite-normalcy. It was _awkward_ , to be honest, but it was the equilibrium that the two could handle at the moment. As for what they’d had, or what she wanted them to be again…she couldn’t think about that right now. She still had a lot of things to figure out for herself, and she suspected Lexa felt the same.

But that didn’t mean that she didn’t look at Lexa, sometimes, when the other girl stopped by Clarke’s room (where Clarke was still spending a great deal of her time, and where she lay on her bed even now), and just…remember. And wonder. Lexa was still Lexa, and everything that had drawn Clarke in so powerfully.

Things had changed, though. _They_ had changed. And so for now, Clarke just…wondered.

She had a great deal of other things occupying her mind these days, anyway. While she definitely wasn’t as bad as she’d been, she still didn’t think she could quite qualify as “okay.” She didn’t even know what that meant anymore, though. It was already a foregone conclusion that she would never be as she was; the loss of her father had marked her forever. So that must mean that whatever it was to be “okay” had also changed, right?

…She wished she knew.

So many things Clarke had taken as true, for granted, had fallen out from under her, and now she found herself wandering blindly, forced for the first time to come to terms with this new, harsher, world.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Before she could venture any further down this increasingly depressing path, a sound at the door came at exactly the right time – a soft knock that reminded her that if she _was_ wandering, she wasn’t, at least, going it alone.

“Come in.”

The knob turned, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile when Lexa poked her head in, looking hesitant. That hesitance dissipated when she saw Clarke’s smile, returning it with one of her own. They looked at each other for a moment, before Lexa abruptly cleared her throat. “Oh, um, hi, Clarke. I just got back from school and thought I’d just say hi…”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile wider; Lexa gave the same explanation every time, as if the thought just occurred to her naturally as she climbed the stairs. She wouldn’t call her out on it though, as she might’ve before; it was clear it took a measure of courage on Lexa’s part to keep it up, and if she needed the polite fiction then Clarke was hardly going to stop her.

“Sure. Hi, yourself. Come in!”

Lexa looked a bit relieved, as if they didn’t have this same exchange nearly every day, and slipped inside, her backpack still slung over a shoulder. Leaving the door firmly open, she took a seat at Clarke’s desk, for once mercifully clear of kitchenware; Clarke had, a few days ago, woken up to see just how much of an unholy mess her room was, and felt compelled to straighten it out a little, if only so that visitors didn’t visibly recoil at the sight of it. She was surprised, after, to find it made her feel a little better, too.

They sat for a moment, Lexa surreptitiously taking in the room and Clarke doing the same with her. There was no doubt about it: things were a little awkward. It was a bit disheartening, that this was where they were after all they had been through, but Clarke supposed things could be much worse. At least it was clear that both of them were making an effort and invested in moving forward – wherever that may take them.

“So…how was school?” Clarke couldn’t help but internally wince as soon as she voiced the question – was there anything more basic? But Lexa just smiled.

“Not bad. I’m mostly caught up at this point, I think. Everyone’s been really accommodating, which is nice. Bellamy actually was able to help me with chem, which is a minor miracle – don’t tell him I said that.” She sent Clarke a conspiratorial smirk. “Anyway, Spanish is still kicking my ass, but honestly, what’s new…”

As Lexa chattered on, Clarke was content to listen, enjoying the little anecdotes about Spanish and Gus showing no mercy during the off-season and Octavia and Bellamy’s little squabble at lunch, egged on by Raven and Anya. It was strangely comforting to know that life hadn’t stopped for everyone, that things were still happening. She was also grateful to Lexa for filling the space: there wasn’t much going on with her that she could easily report on, and both of them knew it. Lexa would never pressure her to give more than she could, and it was enormously comforting.

(Clarke also possibly enjoyed just having a reason to watch Lexa; seeing the girl be so carefree and animated as she talked lightly was something Clarke was pretty sure she would never tire of.)

“…finally, Wells stepped in, thank god. I was beginning to think O might lunge across the table and tackle Bellamy.” Lexa tilted her head, considering. “Although that might have also been entertaining.”

She paused, looking to Clarke for her reaction, and Clarke blinked, aware that she’d been somewhat blatantly staring. “Oh— um— yes. Wells. Haha.”

Lexa’s look turned quizzical, but she mercifully didn’t comment. Instead, she looked down at her hands for a moment, as if bracing herself, before meeting Clarke’s eyes again and said, with slightly forced levity, “So how was your session today?”

Clarke held back a sigh. So there it was. It was hardly a surprise; Lexa of course was going to ask eventually, and Clarke knew it was only out of pure concern. Oh well, perhaps it was better to get it out in the open and then, out of the way, rather than Lexa nervously sitting on it for who knew how long. “Um…it was okay.” She smiled, knew it was a little tremulous. “It’s…helping. I mean…I’m still dealing with some stuff, but…it’s better. I guess.”

“Good! That’s good.” Lexa peered at her, her earnest worry apparent. “I know you know it’s not a race or anything. Just…something to help you deal. I…” She looked away for a second. “I know that’s what _I’ve_ been using it for.”

Clarke let out a breath. Sometimes it was good to be reminded that she wasn’t the only one dealing with this. She just wished she knew how to talk about it. “Yeah, of course.” Well, there was no harm in trying, at least. “You…you can talk to me about it, you know that, right? If you want.”

Lexa nodded quickly. “I know that! And I appreciate it.”

Clarke nodded, and they fell into a silence, neither of them quite looking at the other. Her heart hurt a little bit for them: for what they’d had, what they were now, and she wondered if they would ever regain any bit of normalcy. In that moment, it was hard to imagine.

“Clarke.”

She looked up to Lexa gazing at her, her eyes filled with what could only be called compassion. “It’s okay.”

Clarke stared at her, mouth opening in surprise, before looking away abruptly, embarrassed. Were her thoughts that obvious?

Lexa continued, undeterred, her voice soft. “Don’t…don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll get there.” Clarke heard her take a breath. “We’ll get there.”

Clarke looked back sharply at her, surprised at her unexpectedly bold address of the elephant of the room. Lexa just returned the look, her eyes softening. “Just…focus on yourself right now, okay? There’s no rush. There’s a ton of people out there who care about you and want you to get better.”

Clarke swallowed, her throat tightening. “Okay.”

After a moment, Lexa chanced a smile at her, and Clarke couldn’t help but reply, her heart lifting a little.

Maybe it was too soon to give up on them after all.

 

**

Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept.

Like, really, really slept: closing her eyes and only opening them in the morning, after a full night’s sleep, undisturbed by nightmares and the terrible emptiness next to her and a mind that wouldn’t ever, ever stop turning.

She knew it was affecting her work; how could it not? The snatches of sleep she got here and there, in an armchair in the break room or on a cot in the call room, were no longer enough to sustain her, especially with the grueling schedule she’d picked up at work. But her patients _needed_ her – she could do so much good there, she could help people and see the fruits of her labor in real-time.

She could save people.

Honestly, it felt strange to be laying in an actual, proper bed, under a soft duvet; hell, it felt strange to be in their- her room at _all_. Her visits to her room in the past month had been limited to swift trips, collecting clean clothes and other necessities that would enable her to spend as little time here as possible.

Being in this room, being in this house, had become impossible to bear. Everywhere she looked, every moment she spent here, was filled with reminders of Jake. The espresso machine. Sports sections of the _Times_ scattered everywhere, because he insisted on “saving” them. His pajamas, still slung over the armchair in their bedroom – he never getting quite around to hanging them up.

It was unbearable.

The only reason she was here now, was, frankly, that she’d been told in no uncertain terms to leave the hospital and not return for at minimum 72 hours. More if she wanted. She was just as annoyed now, recalling Marcus cornering her in the trauma ward and giving her her marching orders, as she’d been then – where the hell did he get off ordering her around?

Unfortunately, it seemed he was speaking with the authority of the chief of surgery. And apparently it was the opinion of the hospital that she wasn’t currently “stable” enough to maintain her duties, that she no doubt had “family matters” to attend to due to her “circumstances.” He’d then had the gall to lower his voice to add that it was _okay for her to grieve_.

Needless to say, she’d nearly torn Marcus a new one. Even more unfortunately, her mild loss of control – she may have cursed him out rather loudly, in the earshot of patients, and at length – seemed to just confirm for him that she was in no shape to be at the hospital, and he’d neatly closed the conversation by announcing he’d already had her patients transferred to others on shift.

He’d left her sputtering in the hallway, but not before clasping her forearm with some approximation of sympathy and telling her to get some rest.

He probably wouldn’t have been impressed by her punching of her steering wheel in the parking lot.

So here she was, laying in her bed, being a good employee, getting some rest. If a few fitful hours of sleep, punctuated by unseeing staring at the ceiling, counted as “rest.”

In some part of her mind, a small, dark corner of it – she knew what she was doing. What she was running from. That this behavior was the farthest thing from healthy, that every moment more she spent repressing her grief was digging a deeper hole.

She’d always been good – too good – at ignoring that voice in the back of her head, though, and especially after that blowout she’d had with Clarke – something her mind recoiled at even the recollection – had opted to double down. That look on her daughter’s face…her eyes, exactly like Jake’s…

Well, it had been too much for Abby to take. Hence her avoiding the house as much as humanly possible, tripling the housekeeper’s hours and doing the minimum required to keep the kitchen stocked.

She knew, in that same part of her mind, that this couldn’t last. That Jake, if he was here, would direct that disappointed look at her that he’d perfected, and she’d fold.

But he wasn’t here, was he. No, he’d left her, to somehow manage on her own, the weight of responsibility resting solely on her shoulders. 

She didn’t know how she was supposed to do this. Clarke. Lexa. Anya. She’d promised those girls a home, for as long as they wanted one. And god help her, she meant to keep that promise.

The only problem was, she’d never anticipated keeping it alone.

Her cellphone pinged then, mercifully shaking her from her thoughts, and she reached over to find it was blaring her early wake-up call, meant to return her to her shift. Six AM. Needless to say, that wasn’t going to be an option today. Or the next three days.

Fucking Marcus.

Well, she was up, and considering any additional sleep was a pipe dream, figured she may as well get up, and see what state the house was in. (Her mind uncomfortably prompted her that she might also see what state the _girls_ were in, and she swallowed against the feeling of very real shame.)

She sighed and rose, determinedly not looking at the other side of the bed, and after taking a look at herself in the mirror – those bags were not pretty, and the scrubs she’d fallen asleep in had definitely seen better days – winced and changed. Into pajamas, but still. Clean clothes were clean clothes.

She found the door, and headed for the kitchen, keeping her steps soft and sending up thanks that the master bedroom was on the first floor. While she did intend to check up on the girls, she wasn’t sure she was up to it first thing in the morning, and before the fortifying consumption of coffee.

Abby paused for a long moment in the kitchen entryway. This room in so many ways was the heart of their house, where so many conversations and laughs and squabbles and everything else that built a family happened. It was not lost on her that Jake had contributed to most of that, and now, it mostly hurt to be here.

The last significant amount of time she’d spent here being the fight she’d had with Clarke didn’t help matters much. They still weren’t speaking properly.

She closed her eyes for long seconds, breathing through her nose and tamping down the very real urge to cry as she wondered, not for the first time, how she could have let things get so bad. They said single-parenting had its challenges, but Abby certainly had to have broken some kind of record in how quickly things had gone to shit.

But she opened them after a moment, squaring her shoulders. It was just a kitchen. And if she wanted coffee, she was going to have use it.

And so she did, stepping up to Jake’s absurdly complicated espresso machine and getting things going.

Or meaning to get things going. Two minutes later, she blinked and realized she’d been staring at the machine unseeingly as she relived Jake’s cajoling that had resulted in the purchase of this overengineered, overpriced behemoth, a hulking thing that took up half her counter space and had to be ridiculously coaxed and coddled just to produce a simple cup of coffee.

It was stupid, so stupid, and just as unnecessary.

As were, she belatedly realized, the tears sliding down her face. When had _that_ started? She immediately raised her hands to wipe roughly at her face, suddenly furious. At herself. At the _fucking_ coffee machine in front of her. At Jake. At Marcus, for making her be here so she could drown in her memories.

She wiped her face again before reaching out half blindly, suddenly determined to get her coffee and then get the hell out.

 In her inattentiveness and blind fury, though, she managed to grab the wrong lever, and was instead rewarded with a blast of hot steam on her hand.

“ _Shit_!” Abby immediately recoiled, yanking her quickly reddening hand back and cradling it to her chest.

She stayed like that for a moment, half bent over and breathing hard. It was too much. It was all too much. She was just one person. She couldn’t handle this. Any of it.

“Dr. Griffin?”

Abby jumped, before straightening and quickly turning, still holding her hand to her chest. Anya stood in the entryway, eyes wide. Abby stared at her in dismay – how long had she been there? Oh god, she didn’t even want to know what she looked like – before clearing her throat, trying to regain some semblance of poise. “Anya. Hello.”

Anya just stared, looking almost as if she was… _analyzing_ her. “Hi. Um…are you okay?”

Abby blinked and looked down at her hand. It was beginning to sting. “Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. Just wasn’t paying attention!” She let out a patently unconvincing laugh.

Anya gazed at her carefully. “…Right. Well, you might want to get it under running water.”

“Right. Right.” Abby did just that, letting out a sigh when the cool water hit her reddened skin and feeling thoroughly out-of-sorts. She didn’t even know what to _say_ to the girl.

Anya cleared her throat from behind her. “Um…I can make some coffee.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine—” Abby started, half turning.

“Doc.” Anya shut her down, her tone leaving little room for negotiation. “It’s fine. I was coming down to make some anyway.”

Abby had never known Anya to be a morning person, especially on a weekend, but wasn’t going to raise the point. She was painfully aware of how long it had been since they’d had a real conversation – what did she know about what the girl did now?

A few minutes later found Abby seated at the counter, holding a cool compress to her hand as she watched Anya expertly maneuver around the espresso machine. It seemed she’d come a long way from her early struggles with the thing.

Anya didn’t say anything as she worked, and Abby, for the life of her, couldn’t think of a single thing to bring up that didn’t sound completely removed or somehow patronizing. She was sure that Anya wasn’t going to suffer through awkward questioning about how school was going, anyway.

And so the kitchen was silent for some time, save for the steady drip of coffee into mugs and Anya’s measured footsteps. It was, Abby thought, almost peaceful.

It wasn’t long before Anya was sliding a mug of coffee over to Abby – black, with a half teaspoon of sugar, just how she liked it. Abby murmured her thanks before taking a long draught, letting out a contented sigh after. She’d _really_ needed that.  

Standing across the island, Anya cupped her own mug, sipping in silence. As the seconds ticked by, Abby began to grow a little uncomfortable – Anya was making no bones about the fact that she was watching the doctor over the edge of her cup.

Finally, Abby cleared her throat, desperate to clear the air. Or even just cut the silence. “How are your boxing lessons going?”

Anya took a long sip before answering, considering the doctor as she did. (Abby tried hard not to look as nervous as she felt.) “Pretty good. Good way to let off some steam. Coach says my form is improving.”

Abby nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Great, that’s great. I’m so glad you have that outlet.”

Anya just looked at her, raising her mugs to her lips. Abby returned the stare, feeling more awkward by the second. It appeared Anya wasn’t going to offer much up on her own. “And…I understand you and Lexa have returned to school. That’s really great to hear.”

“Yup.”

There was an impressive amount packed into that single syllable. Abby shifted around for something else to say with increasing desperation. “And…I hope there wasn’t too much to get caught up on? Arkadia’s faculty does try to be accommodating in these kinds of circumstances.”

She regretted it as soon as she said it; she’d been trying to veer far from any topic that touched on the (multiple) elephants in the room, a goal that, as it turned out, didn’t leave much to discuss.

Anya’s gaze turned even more piercing at the comment, if that was possible, before she raised her mug a final time, draining it. “Ha. Yeah, we’re caught up. You’re right – Ark has been pretty chill. Given the _circumstances_.”

Abby winced at the very real steel in Anya’s voice, and opened her mouth to say something, anything to move the conversation back to neutral territory – but Anya was already ahead of her.

“You know, doc, I gotta say – you’d know the answers to all of these questions already if you were ever around.”

 

Anya watched as Abby’s grip around her mug tightened, her knuckles turning white. She’d expected to feel a flash of remorse, but instead found that she only felt indignant. And frankly, a little pissed. But most of all, she was just hurt.

And if this was what she was feeling, she could only imagine how it was for Clarke.

“Anya, I—“

“No, let me finish,” Anya cut in, hearing the barely restrained fury in her own voice. “It’s the least you can do.”

Abby stared at Anya, her eyes narrowing, but fell silent. Anya took a breath, so many thoughts crowding in her mind she hardly knew where to start; now that she was in front of the woman all her well-rehearsed talking points seemed to crowd and blur together. She _knew_ Abby was hurting, damn it, anyone within ten feet of her could feel the raw pain and grief emanating off of her. But Abby’s pain didn’t exist in a vacuum, and she didn’t have a monopoly on it, either. They were _all_ suffering, and yet Abby had somehow convinced herself that isolation and avoidance – _repression_ – were going to solve everything: if she didn’t acknowledge the problem, it would cease to exist.

If only.

She let out a short sigh, some of her passion abruptly fading and leaving a simple tiredness in its wake. She _was_ tired. They all were. “Dr. Griffin…look, I’m not here to yell at you, okay?”

Abby just looked at her, not seeming overly convinced. Anya tried again, wishing, not for the first time, that she’d gotten some of Lexa’s oratory skills. “I didn’t expect to like Mr. Griffin, you know.”

The change in direction seemed to take Abby by surprise, and slightly encouraged, Anya plowed on. “Seriously. The first time I met him, I was about ready to run away. He was just so… _cheerful_.”

That actually got something that could be only slightly generously described as a smile out of Abby. Anya smiled back, a little hopefully. “But, well, as I’m sure is no surprise to you...he wore me down. I’m not sure if it was the endless dad jokes, or the lunch bag messages. The man should’ve gone into writing Hallmark cards, or something.”

Abby snorted, almost seemingly in spite of herself. “And just…I don’t know,” Anya continued. “The way he _was_. Playing soccer with Lexa. Chess with me. Always giving us space when we needed it. He was—” She had to clear her throat. “He was just a really cool guy.”

She watched as Abby’s smile slipped, her eyes dipping to stare down into her mug. “Which is why…” She took a fortifying breath. “Which is why I’m missing him so damn much. And if this is how I’m feeling, after knowing him for less than a year, then I can’t— I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, doc.”

Abby’s breath caught, and she didn’t look up. Anya sighed, wishing there was an easier way to say all the things she wanted to convey. “Dr. Griffin…Abby…I’ve never lost a spouse. But I have lost loved ones before…my parents.” She paused to swallow the lump rising in her throat. “And if the pain is anything like that was… _is_ …” She had to break her gaze, staring down at the counter. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Ever.”

When she raised her head again, she was greeted by the sight of Abby looking up at her, her gaze shadowed but attentive. “I couldn’t handle it. At all. In and out of foster homes, group homes. I was so _angry_. And you know what?” She waited until Abby’s eyes met hers. “The only thing – and I mean the _only_ thing – that kept me out of juvie, or worse, was Lexa. Even though she was younger than me, and going through her own shit, she was my rock. We leaned on each other, and because of that we were able to get through it.” She let out a shaky breath, feeling acutely exposed but determined to finish. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt us, or change us. We both have our scars. But we’re still here.”

Anya set aside her mug, looking down at her hands as she gripped the edge of the island. “This whole situation is so, _so_ shitty. And if _I’m_ mad, then you must be…I don’t even know. So I get why you don’t want to be here, because of how much it hurts. But it _has_ to hurt. And the only way you, or any of us, are going to make it through is if we can lean on each other. Lexa and I have a home here, and we…we want to keep it, if we can. But we need you to _be_ here, to make that happen. We need you. _I_ need you.” She paused, before saying what needed to be said. “And…more than anyone, Clarke needs you. She needs her mom. Whatever either of you are going through, she’ll always need that.”

She pretended not to hear the shaky breaths from across the island, keeping her gaze firmly on the counter despite the increasing burning in her eyes. She was deeply out of her comfort zone here, and didn’t even know if she was getting through, but needed to know for herself that she’d said everything she’d promised herself she would say, no matter how much it hurt. “I lost both my parents, Dr. Griffin. I’d do anything to have even one of them back. Clarke’s lost one. Don’t make her feel that by losing one, she’s lost you both.”

Anya lost her nerve then, not waiting to hear what Abby’s reaction was. She quickly rounded the island, meaning to leave through the entryway and disappear upstairs. Before she could, though, a touch stopped her in her tracks. Abby, still seated at the island, facing away, had reached out and caught her hand, clasping it in her own.

Anya stared down at their hands, before looking up at Abby, the woman still looking away. The simple touch seemed to say everything that Abby couldn’t in that moment, and Anya felt the tears that had been threatening her eyes finally begin to overflow.

They stayed like that for long moments, Anya standing, stubbornly wiping at her face with one hand and clasping Abby’s hand in the other; Abby holding Anya’s hand as she sat at the island, staring down at the surface as Anya’s words settled into her.

Sometimes, a simple human touch said more than words ever could, and Anya, drying the last of her tears, let herself think – for the first time in a very great while – that they might all have a chance.

They had a long road to go, and Abby had a lot to make up for. But Anya had learned that nothing was assured in this life, and she’d take whatever chance she could get.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on.

They say pain heals with time. Given enough days, and weeks, and months, even the sharpest of losses can become more bearable, the deepest wounds stinging less fiercely – or, at least, relenting just enough so as to not occupy every waking moment.

Clarke, until very recently, had dismissed this entire idea outright. Her dad was everywhere she looked, in her every thought. And though it had made things unbearable, the funny thing was she hadn’t wanted the barrage of reminders to stop; in a twisted way, it had, for all the pain it brought, kept Jake real and present.

And if this was all she had left to her, she would cling to it with both hands. Even if hurt – or maybe _especially_ if it did. A kind of penance that perhaps she deserved.

She knew now that that was the deep-set guilt talking. And the rest of it, the lowest points of her wild grief.

She’d come some ways since then. Not “healed” – she still didn’t think anyone ever really healed fully, not from this – but sometimes Clarke thought she could see some light at the end of the tunnel. She felt some hope. She didn’t burst into bitter tears when it took more than a second to recall some detail of a memory of her dad, like she had the first three times.

So, progress. She guessed.

It still felt wrong, sometimes. To “move on,” in any capacity of the phrase. Because how could she move on from her _father_? Surely there could be no greater betrayal.

She still didn’t really have an answer to this quandary; her therapist would always point out that her dad would never have wanted her to stay stuck in this rut, and while she didn’t disagree, per se, internalizing that idea wasn’t so easy. When these moods set in, they could be hard to shake. And that, she knew, really _was_ just a matter of time. As sick as she was of hearing that stupid phrase.

But they weren’t as frequent, or as permeating. For that, Clarke supposed she had counselling to thank. And Lexa, of course. And, strangely, even Anya, who Clarke had noticed was around a bit more, and though was never exactly _nice_ her presence was still strangely welcome. Wells and Raven, too, the two of them having apparently decided that her request for space was formally null and void. (She couldn’t deny that she was secretly pleased.)

The biggest change, though, one that was still taking some getting used to…was her mom.

Just the thought caused a whole riot of complicated emotion swell in her chest. Her mom, who she loved. Her mom, her only parent. Her mom, who she was so mad at.

Her mom, who had, some days ago, come to her room – the first time Clarke had seen her there in weeks – and given her an apology.

It had been awkward. There was no other way to describe it. Both were painfully aware of all that had transpired, and Clarke had had her hackles up from the very first.

But Abby had pushed through it.

The knock on her door, familiar by now, had drawn an instant smile from Clarke. She hadn’t expected Lexa back from school so soon, but she was hardly going to complain.

No sooner did the door open did that smile disappear. Because standing there in the entry was a figure both highly unexpected and highly undesired: her mother.

Abby looked…tired. That had been Clarke’s immediate thought. She was worn, her face creased; she looked as if she’d aged five years. Any concern or sympathy these observations might have typically engendered was quickly eclipsed by the swell of anger cresting in Clarke’s chest. Every moment of that fight in the kitchen was fresh in her mind, and she was in no mood to make nice – especially considering that, even after all that, her mom had just fled back to the goddamn hospital.

Which was fine by Clarke. If her mom didn’t want to see her, then she certainly could return the favor.

“What do you want?”

Abby had seemed to flinch a little at the brusque question, but held her ground. “I…I was hoping we could talk.”

Clarke, needless to say, was unimpressed. “Yeah, no thanks.”

“Clarke, please—“

Clarke cut her off, in no mood to be guilted or appealed to. “No. I think you made your feelings perfectly clear last time we spoke, _mom_. I don’t really think we have anything more to say to each other.”

Abby stared at her for a long moment, her features clearly etched with pain. Clarke stared back defiantly, furiously willing away any sparks of remorse. Finally, Abby’s shoulders slumped, and she turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob.

Clarke had watched her, a strange mix of indignation and resignation overcoming her, combined with her vindication at being proved right once again. At the first sign of conflict, of pushback, her mom would leave. Again.

And then, Abby stopped. Her shoulders had slowly straightened, her grip on the doorknob tightening.

Clarke had watched with some uncertainty as Abby turned, the feeling morphing into full-blown trepidation at the sight of the complete resolve on her mother’s face. “That’s not true.”

“W-what?”

Abby had looked at her fiercely. “That we have nothing to say to each other. That will _never_ be true.”

“Mom,” Clarke had started, taken aback, “I—”

But Abby had kept going, a fire clearly lit under her. “Clarke, please, just listen to me. I know you’re angry with me, and…you’re not wrong to be. Just…give me a few minutes. Please.”

Clarke looked at her, taking in the lines carved on her mother’s face again and wondering, not for the first time, just how she had been getting through the days. She wouldn’t have to wonder if her mom would actually _talk_ to her, she thought bitterly.

“Fine,” she said finally, her tone curt. “Whatever.”

Abby had taken the unenthused permission with visible relief, and stepped back inside, closing the door behind her. She took a seat at Clarke’s desk, letting out a breath as she did. She looked down at her hands for a long moment, then raised her gaze to meet Clarke’s; Clarke was struck by the pain visible there.

Then, she started talking.

Clarke had listened as Abby tried, in halting terms, to describe something of the mental abyss into which she’d sunk. How spending any time at all in the house had been physically painful, the plentiful reminders of Jake in what seemed like every corner driving her out lest she actually go insane.

And how the greatest reminder of all had been Clarke.

How she looked just like Jake, from the hair to the piercing blue eyes they shared; the countless little quirks and idiosyncrasies that Abby saw in them both, combined with the complicated surge of emotions that rose in her chest every time Abby saw her daughter, that served to make her go out of her way to avoid it all.

“And I know, I _know_ ,” Abby had said before Clarke could cut in, “That didn’t – _doesn’t_ – excuse my actions, Clarke. I…” And here her breath had caught, and she’d had to look away for a moment; Clarke could see the wetness on her mom’s cheeks, matching the tears she felt on her own. “I was really selfish. You’re my daughter – my first priority before _anything_. And I let my grief get in the way of that.” She let out a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. “And I’m just really…ashamed.”

Clarke swallowed against the lump in her throat, feelings hopelessly jumbled. She could understand the pain, the desire to flee that Abby was expressing; she had felt it too. And her mom was now echoing everything Clarke had thought over the last month – the abandonment of someone who she was supposed to have _been_ there for – and at least she was recognizing it. But was that enough to wipe away everything that had happened? On one hand, this was her mother, who was owning up to her mistakes, who Clarke, despite everything, loved so much. And yet Clarke had so much pent-up anger and bitterness at this point, that in some ways it felt safer to keep a hold of it.

And so she had said the only thing she knew was true. “I’m so mad at you.” Her voice shook, but she forced herself to continue. “Dad…dad died, and you just _disappeared_. I— I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

To her credit, Abby didn’t bother denying any of it. Instead she just looked back at Clarke, making no attempt to wipe her face dry, before nodding. “I know. And I wish I could go back and change it, but…” She sighed. “I’m here now.”

Clarke felt her eyes narrow, and couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Until the next time it gets too hard.” She herself wasn’t sure if it was a question or statement. Maybe both.

This time, her mom did flinch. “I know you’re skeptical. You have good reason to be. I just…” She straightened a little, a certain amount of resolve entering her voice. “I know hearing an apology won’t matter much. But I am sorry, sweetheart. So, _so_ sorry. I’m recognizing that I’ve…really failed as a parent, these last few weeks, and I’m going to change. For you. For Anya and Lexa. For all of us.” She folded her hands together; Clarke could see how tight her grip was. “Despite everything, despite my own actions…we’re still a family, Clarke. Or…we can still be one.”

Clarke had studied her mother then, feeling suddenly both very young and very old. Young, because she could admit to herself that, at the end of the day, she really did just want her mom. That she really did just miss her. And old, because she was being asked to trust once more, with no guarantee for how it would turn out except words. “You really hurt me, mom. That’s not going to go away overnight.”

Abby just nodded, her eyes clear. “I know,” she said again. “I’m not expecting it to. We’re all different now. _Life_ is going to be different now. I just want a chance to make amends, to see if we can figure out how to keep going. Together.”

Clarke had looked down at her lap, considering for a long moment. In the end, it always seemed to come back to trust. But maybe she really was destined to be Jake Griffin’s daughter forever, because try as she might, she never could shake that key bit of hope, of optimism, that prodded her to try one more time.

And maybe she did just really miss her mom. Who had fucked up pretty badly, but was owning up to her failures, and maybe was just a person, trying to cope with an enormous, devastating loss – and not always doing a great job at it.

Clarke knew the feeling.

And so she had sighed, and nodded, and tried not to react at the way Abby had visibly lit up, trying and failing to restrain her smile. “Good. That’s…thank you, Clarke.”

Another tight nod was all Clarke could manage.

Their impromptu peace talks ended shortly after, her mom perhaps sensing that Clarke was at her limit. Before she left, though, she had, after hesitating for a second, given Clarke a hug. It was stiff, and a bit awkward, neither side completely at ease.

But it was also strangely comforting; it was enough to remind Clarke of all the ways her mom – never massively demonstrative in her affection – could love, and show that love.

And if Clarke felt Abby’s shoulders shake, well, she wasn’t going to say anything.

 

Things weren’t still “okay” between the two of them – but that was to be expected. Clarke still had a lot of pent-up resentment and anger she was working through, and normalcy – whatever that meant – wasn’t going to reappear overnight. But Abby wasn’t forcing it, for which Clarke was grateful, and in the meantime a certain amount of…not peace, per se, but calm had reentered the house; the dread which had settled over the Griffin residence for weeks was slowly beginning to dissipate.

Much of the credit for that went to Abby. It was clear that she was trying: Clarke learned that she’d also had one-on-one talks with Anya and Lexa (who, much to Clarke’s displeasure, stayed stubbornly mum about the exact details of their chat, simply saying that Abby had apologized), and apparently also checked in with Maya, their social worker.  

She extended her time off from the (nonnegotiable) three days to a full week, and then, another week after that. Having her mom around all the time was yet another thing that took some getting used to, after spending so long with just the opposite. That didn’t mean it wasn’t...nice, even when it was awkward or uncomfortable. It quickly was becoming clear to Clarke that, as they attempted to move forward, she and her mom would have to find a way to forge a new relationship – one without Jake serving as the “bridge” between them as he so often had. It wasn’t a prospect Clarke was always sure she was up to, especially during those long spans in the day when Lexa and Anya were at school, and it was just her and her mom in the house.

But it was a start.

Something that did make an enormous difference – more than she would have ever expected, to be honest – was Anya and Lexa’s presence. Though neither of them would come out and say it, Clarke had gleaned (okay, Raven had said something) that it was Anya who had given Abby her “come to Jesus” talk, which frankly Clarke couldn’t picture at all, but, well, the results were undeniably unfolding before her. And it was of course Lexa’s steady presence that had kept Clarke sane (or close enough) from the beginning of this nightmarish new reality, even when Clarke was her worst self and despite her own pain.

And it was their joint presence that gave her – and, she thought, her mother –  the courage to try to move forward now.

Just because Abby had committed to turning a new leaf, to trying, didn’t mean that everything would be effortless and simple from day one, and they continued to have moments of tension, of short patience and shared grief, moments in which Clarke was equally implicated.

There was no telling how nasty some of these episodes might’ve gotten – sometimes, for all their good intentions, all Abby and Clarke’s increased sharing of space did was exacerbate their tensions; if it wasn’t for Anya’s well-timed sarcasm or Lexa’s willingness to firmly step in whenever needed, who knew where things might’ve led.

Clarke knew, objectively, that some of these airings of grievances were necessary, and maybe even healthy – there was so much that had gone unsaid between her and her mom, and if they really did want to start fresh some of that would have to come out into the open. They’d never been the best of communicators, though, even when her dad was there, and so it wasn’t surprising that some of these “discussions” turned heated, or even ugly, within minutes. All she knew was that there wasn’t a day she didn’t send up thanks for the sisters’ continued presence. 

It did go beyond just their willingness to mediate, of course. Being around other people who had known her dad, lived with her dad, cared for him…it was surprisingly comforting. And though she had decidedly different relationships with Anya and Lexa, she came to realize during this time just how much she’d come to care for and appreciate them both. She only hoped that they were getting something out of it, too.

That hope occasionally morphed into worry, as well. Clarke knew perfectly well that neither she nor her mother were the healthiest or most pleasant people to be around, these days, and some days, especially after the latest spat with her mom, Maya’s words to Anya and Lexa in that meeting eavesdropped on by Clarke, came back to her: _It’s just a fact that having two additional teenagers to take care of will contribute additional stress … the situation may no longer be tenable for either_ _side_ …

Clarke had come to count on them, she knew. And she did believe that they liked being here, too. But was Maya…maybe…right? Would they be better off somewhere else? With a normal family, unburdened with grief and stress, where they wouldn’t have to play mediator between a half-crazed mother and daughter?

Just the thought made her want to cry.

Finally, when her worry and guilt over the issue were successfully competing with her lingering nightmares to keep her up at night, she couldn’t keep it in anymore, and did what she’d been wanting to do from the beginning: took it to Lexa.

Even before everything, she’d always felt remarkably free to confide in Lexa, about _anything_ , in a way she couldn’t even with Raven and Wells. It had been one of the ways she knew Lexa was something special. After…she had nearly collapsed into herself, and it had only been Lexa who had prevented it. Now, as they started down the slow path to healing, some of that old comfort and familiarity was returning, as seen in Lexa’s daily post-class check-ins, the return of some of the easy banter in their conversations and exchanges. Despite still keeping some things close to chest, she had started letting Lexa in a little bit.

This was more than a little bit, or a little issue. But it wasn’t something she was ready to talk to her mom about, much less her therapist. When it came down to it, her final trust always laid with Lexa.

Lexa had taken Clarke’s jumbled expression of her fears, halting at first until it all just came rushing out – her worry over whether Anya and Lexa stayed purely out of obligation, if Maya had been right, that they may be happier elsewhere – with remarkable grace, considering how out of left field it had been. (Well, her eyes had widened a tad as Clarke shifted into hyperdrive, and she may have gulped, but aside from that she performed quite admirably.)

She’d listened in silence as Clarke got it all out, and then when Clarke had run out of breath, after waiting a beat to make sure she was _really_ done, had said, shaking her head: “Clarke. We knew about all of that. We made this choice, and we’re gonna stick with it, because we _want_ to be here.”

Clarke wasn’t entirely convinced. “Lexa, but what if—”

“And besides, this is where you are, so why would I want to be anywhere else?”

The way she’d said it, and the way she’d looked at Clarke as she did, had rather rendered Clarke unable to put up much of a protest, or indeed, say anything further at all.

(She was pretty sure Lexa had said some more things after that, but Lexa’s face as she’d spoken – earnest and oddly tender – and the warmth suffusing her chest had served as quite the distraction.)

 

**

Towards the end of March, Clarke returned to school.

It had been a long time coming. Lexa – usually with Raven or Wells as backup – had been hauling her out of the house more and more, forcing her to get reacclimated into society, and both her therapist and her mom had been hinting at it increasingly. Finally, at the end of her mom’s two weeks off, she had sat Clarke down, and gently broached the subject. It was important Clarke get that routine back in her life, she said, to get out of the house and be surrounded by her peers. To have something else to focus on. Or at least try it and see how it went.

As it was, Clarke had been out of school for more than a month, a stretch of time that seemed at once never ending and all too short. Usually a fastidious and dedicated student, the thought of classes, of homework and projects and maintaining a good GPA…it now seemed all so…insignificant. After the month she’d been through, the depths of emotion she’d endured…it was hard to care much about something like school.

But, logically, she knew she couldn’t put it off much longer. Arkadia had been very understanding, but she knew that the longer she stayed out the harder it would be to re-integrate. And, increasingly, the thought of getting out of the house for more than therapy or an after-school coffee break with Lexa or Raven did sound nice. And spending more time with her friends – especially those who she had avoided entirely, like Bellamy and the rest of the lunch gang – wouldn’t be so bad.

And so she went. Monday morning, more than a month after her dad died, she rose at six AM – in itself a struggle, after sleeping for interminable hours and following no real schedule for days on end – threw on some clothes, and met Anya and Lexa in the kitchen. Gone were the days of carefully picking out her clothes, of rising early to apply her makeup, do her hair. She was clean, anything beyond that…she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

No one, not even Anya, commented on the clear change – as a matter of fact, they just looked happy to see her. Her mom, coming into the kitchen a few minutes later, already dressed in her scrubs – she had, as she’d informed the girls the night before, switched to day shifts timed to mostly coincide with their school schedules – looked equally pleased, giving Clarke a hug before setting out to make celebratory “back to school” pancakes.

Clarke wasn’t so sure she shared their enthusiasm – if she was feeling anything, it was vague nausea and a whole lotta anxiety. School, AKA hundreds of her peers. All who had certainly heard the news, had time to hash it and rehash it a thousand times, while her absence no doubt built it up even more.

And now she was coming back. Perfect.

She’d only made her way through half a pancake by the time Wells texted to say he was outside, her appetite disappearing completely at the sight of the text. Oh, god. Suddenly, the thought of going right back upstairs and climbing back into bed seemed deeply appealing, and she might’ve done had it not been for the joint expectant stares coming from her mom, Anya, and Lexa.

Great. They’d united.

She heaved a sigh, and slid off the counter stool, hauling her bag over a shoulder. Anya and Lexa headed for the door, and Clarke made to follow – but a touch on her arm stilled her, and she turned to see her mother.

Abby was eyeing her, looking for the first time a little anxious herself. She smiled brightly when Clarke looked up at her, though, no doubt trying to instill both of them with a little confidence. “All set?”

Clarke shrugged.

Abby took her by the shoulders, gazing at her as if the force of her stare could wipe away all of Clarke’s anxiety. “You’ll be fine. Don’t let anyone get to you.”

Clarke nodded, none too sure of any that.

“And…if it gets to be too much, just call me, okay? I’ll come get you.”

Another nod.

“Clarke.”

She looked up from she’d been studying the floor. Abby smiled again, reaching up to push a lock of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “Have a good day.”

Clarke forced a smile and nodded again, before stepping away. “Thanks.”

“Oh, and one more thing…” Abby reached into the fridge, pulled out a brown bag. “Don’t forget this.”

Clarke took the lunch sack without thinking, thanking her and saying her goodbyes as she headed for the door. It was only as she closed the front door behind her, stepping out onto the driveway, that she looked down at the paper sack. She stopped in her tracks, her vision blurring.  

Written in black Sharpie, in her mom’s distinctive cursive, was, simply, “I love you, Clarke.”

Who knew how long she might’ve stood there, staring at the bag and trying not to cry, had it not been for Wells tentatively tapping the horn, jolting her out of her thoughts. She took a shuddering breath before stuffing the sack in her backpack and heading for the car. It was time for school.

 

**

To the surprise of approximately no one, it was a dizzying, exhausting, overwhelming day. The school really had gone out of its way to help her – she’d promptly been shown into the school counselor’s office upon arrival, where the counselor had assured her that her teachers were well aware of the situation and were ready to work with her to get her caught up, and that she needn’t worry about anything and just focus on getting back into the swing of things.

Though that assurance was a bit oddly all-encompassing, it was still nice enough to hear, she supposed. Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last. No sooner had she been whisked out of the office and into her first period did it begin to dissipate; though her English teacher’s quiet condolences were perfectly innocuous, between that and her classmates’ stares, her teeth were already firmly on edge by the time the ending bell rang.

It didn’t get much better. Wherever she went – the halls, the breezeway, any and every classroom – she felt eyes on her, was sure whispers were following her. And honestly, she didn’t think she was being exactly paranoid. She was back after a month, following tragedy, and probably looking different on top of it, if the three pairs of too-loose jeans she’d tried on last night were any indication. That was enough to make anyone talk. Clarke quickly cottoned on to the fact that her friends had it worked out between themselves so that someone was always next to her in the halls, or in class, which did help a little. And she’d been lying if she said she didn’t get a little choked up upon seeing Bellamy, who didn’t hesitate to wrap her in a long bear hug.

But even still. Her classes blurred together, teachers talking about things she was entirely clueless about – god, she was _so_ behind – other kids eyeing her, whispers continuing until she wanted to scream. She had to excuse herself from fourth period to go hide in the bathroom until she no longer felt like punching someone in the face – and even then it was only the stray thought that if this was how Anya felt that all the time, then Clarke _totally_ got it, that amused herself enough to regain some measure of control.

Lunch was a welcome reprieve – her friend talking animatedly about everything and nothing, giving her plenty of ins to join the conversation whenever but also giving her space. She felt Lexa’s worried eyes on her throughout, from where she sat next to her, and though there wasn’t much she could say to fool the other girl, Lexa seemed to know anyway. She slipped her hand into Clarke’s, under the table. Clarke held on for dear life.

 

The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough. Lexa had been only growing more anxious as it wore on, the glimpses she got of Clarke here and there not doing much to assuage her worries. She knew this day would be tough for the girl no matter what, and that there was only so much she could do to help, save walking with her through the halls, channeling her crabbiest pissed-off Anya face whenever someone studied Clarke for too long or with too much interest.

When the last bell finally rang, she exited the classroom at speed, determined to catch Clarke as she left class. She made it there in record time – her path may have involved some inelegant moving aside of people in her way – and watched as the students trickled out. She waited, and waited, but Clarke’s distinctive hair never made an appearance, and soon the class was empty, with no sign of the girl. Lexa frowned and turned to head to Clarke’s locker – she supposed the girl could’ve just left a bit early. But she wasn’t there either. After waiting there for a few fruitless minutes, she dug her phone out of her pocket – but no, no texts or missed calls.

Lexa frowned deeper, leaning back against the lockers. She could call Raven, or Wells, they might know where she is…for that matter, for all Lexa knew, Clarke may have even gone home early, had her mom pick her up. But surely she would’ve texted Lexa, right?

She didn’t know. She tapped her phone against her thigh, lost in thought, until suddenly surging up and moving with purpose. There was one more place she might try, before she moved to making calls.

 

**

Lexa hadn’t been to the arts wing since before winter break, when she was sitting for Clarke’s portrait. That seemed like a lifetime ago. The innocence and playfulness, combined with that heady rush of possibility and new beginnings seemed very distant now. And yet…despite everything, Lexa couldn’t bring herself to regret it. It had meant everything to her. And the girl in question still did.

Her footsteps slowed as she neared the advanced art studio, not sure what she would find. After a pause, she turned the handle, pulling the door just wide enough to see inside. She felt herself blow out a breath. Well, she’d been right.

Clarke was standing at one of the tables, her back to the door. She was looking down at what looked like large pieces of paper – sketch paper, Lexa realized belatedly – spread over the table, though it was too far and too dim to make out what the papers contained.

She must’ve made a sound, because Clarke stiffened before casting a glance over her shoulder, relaxing minutely when she saw who it was. “Oh, Lexa.”

Lexa couldn’t quite determine her tone – happiness? Resignation? But she decided to run with it, taking a breath and stepping into the room.

The studio was unchanged from the last time she’d been here – all that was different was her. And, of course, Clarke. She felt herself flush slightly, at the recollections of all they’d gotten up to that last week, while Clarke made the “finishing touches” to her portrait. It was almost hard to imagine.

She’d gotten close enough to see what was on the paper now, and felt herself still. Images of Abby, of Raven and Wells. A few of her and Anya. And, most frequently, of Jake. With Abby, or with Clarke, or all three of them. And more than a few of just him. The one Clarke was staring down at now was a particularly large portrait of the man from his shoulders up, a remarkably accurate depiction of him, with that familiar half smile on his face as he looked slightly away from the viewer.

Lexa’s heart hurt as she looked down at the portrait. Like all of Clarke’s work, it was beautiful, and proof of the girl’s talent. It was also absolutely heartbreaking; Clarke’s love for her father was visible in every line.

“It’s funny...I tore up all my sketches at home, because I couldn’t stand seeing him everywhere. But I guess I forgot about my stuff here, and now—” Clarke let out a shaky laugh that was more pained than anything else. “—Now I can’t look away.”

“Clarke…” Lexa took a careful step towards her, her heart aching for the girl as it had countless times. “It was understandable. And you have these still, right?”

Clarke nodded as she stared down at the drawings – Lexa could see now, as she joined Clarke at the table, that alongside the portrait was a sketch of Jake and Abby, Abby’s head thrown back in laughter as Jake grinned down at her, no doubt pleased at the success of a joke he’d just cracked, and swallowed hard. How many times had she seen that scene play out herself?

“If...if it’s painful, you don’t have to do this yourself, Clarke. Really.”

Clarke finally looked up at that, peering at Lexa for a long moment before, to Lexa’s surprise, cracking a small smile, shaking her head. “You know, it’s...it’s okay. I mean, it– it still hurts, but now...I like seeing this. I like seeing him, like this.”

Lexa followed her gaze where it focused on Jake, the love clearly apparent in his smile and eyes, and felt her lips lift a little. “I do too.”

They looked down at the drawings for another long moment, both no doubt lost in her memories. Clarke broke the silence then. “It’s kind of weird being back here, isn’t it?”

Lexa didn’t pretend not to understand. She’d just been thinking about it herself, after all. “Um. A little.” The silence built, and after a seemingly never-ending moment she added, desperate to clear the air, “Clarke, we really don’t have to--”

Clarke reached over and took Lexa’s hand, shocking her into silence like nothing else could. After a moment she said, so quietly Lexa almost missed it, “I miss you.”

It took Lexa a second to regain her voice. The stinging in her eyes didn’t help. “I miss you too,” she said, her voice soft. She’d never meant the phrase more.

Clarke looked away for a moment, before meeting Lexa’s eyes – Lexa tried hard not to react at the clear vulnerability there. She looked for a second as if she was going to say something, but then just shook her head. She let go of Lexa’s hand – Lexa stamping out any disappointment she may have felt – but then, to Lexa’s shock, leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the girl and resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder.

Lexa stood frozen for a second in pure astonishment, before snapping back to herself, returning the hug with fervor. It had been weeks since she’d had Clarke this close.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, in the classroom where everything had started, a lifetime ago. But, as she reacquainted herself with the feeling of Clarke in her arms, she thought that, far from feeling final or funereal, the room instead carried an air of hope.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these scenes refused to cooperate, and took a bit of rewriting...interested to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Just a few more left -- thanks as ever for reading.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me all this way.

Somehow, that month which once seemed so impossibly distant, unattainable, arrived. It was May, and school was ending.

It had been the longest four months — the longest _school year_ — of Clarke’s life.

School was ending, and that meant a few things. It meant Anya — against all odds, and clearly even somewhat to her own surprise — was graduating. She had, to her credit, managed to rescue her struggling grades, doubling down in the last few months of school. Perhaps the sudden, rude awakening that she would be, very shortly, aging out of the system which had served as her unwanted custodian for the past decade had prompted her to put away the remnants of her fury, or maybe instead channel it into her studies.

Whichever it was, it had worked, and she finished the semester with all classes passed and her walking the stage confirmed. Abby had clearly been delighted by the sudden seriousness with which Anya was treating her schoolwork, and it quickly become a common sight to see the two of them in the kitchen in the evening, Abby walking Anya through one problem or another.

As for Clarke and Lexa — Lexa was advancing to her senior year with no issue, having always dutifully attended to her classes. Clarke, on the other hand, for the first time in her life would be required to attend summer school for something other then getting ahead; she'd missed so much school that that there was no way she could realistically hope to satisfactorily catch up. It  was annoying, of course — no one _wanted_ to attend summer school — but she'd grudgingly accepted it after being reminded by Raven that the alternative was retaking the semester in the fall while her friends all became juniors without her. The slight rise of Raven’s eyebrows as she'd outlined this depressing reality had fired Clarke up, a little, and she was meeting the girl’s challenge and enrolling in summer classes before it quite dawned on her how well she'd been played.

She figured that she was probably due some tough love, though, at that point had continued on to the confirmation screen with gritted teeth.

Aside from school…well. Clarke was better than she was before, she guessed. They all were. She still visited her therapist like clockwork twice a week, still had the occasional nightmare, still choked up, her eyes filling with tears, whenever a reminder of her dad came by and she missed him so much she couldn't breathe. But it wasn't incapacitating her the way it once had. School had helped, she knew, being back with her friends and away from the at times oppressive silence of her house. The tentative detente with her mom, too, had been a salve on the many cracks in her heart, and even if it was still not perfect or easy, it was real.

As for the possibility of renewing other relationships…the thought had occurred to her a few dozen times, only increasing as the weeks went by and the incredible awkwardness and tension that had sprung up between her and Lexa overnight slowly wore away, until they were able to interact with something like the ease and closeness they'd once shared.

That moment in the art studio, when she'd first returned to school, had ironically both broken down barriers — it was the first time they'd really, genuinely hugged or even touched in weeks, and Clarke couldn't deny something had loosened in her chest upon feeling Lexa against her — and, somehow, renewed some of the awkwardness between them. Neither knew what the other wanted, what they were really even ready for, and the reminder of how good the other one felt hadn't been particularly helpful when everything else was still so uncertain.

So they'd continued to put that aspect aside for the last few months of school, just reviving the friendship aspect of their relationship which had equally fallen by the wayside and was as pleasant to have again.

It was with these jumbled thoughts Clarke sat in her final period of her sophomore year, the entire classroom completely unfocused, everyone enjoying the last-day-of-school high to even pretend to pay attention. The teacher had given up ages ago, and when the bell rang, signaling the end of school and the glorious dawning of summer vacation, she felt her eyes slide shut, even as everyone around her broke into whoops and cheers. It was over. This year was over, that had been the best and worst of her life.

It was a lot to take in.

It was only a tossed “see you later, Clarke” that made her open her eyes, seeing Murphy wave a lazy hand at her as he left the room, and she grimaced. Okay, the year wasn't quite over, and considering she'd get to spend her summer trapped in a classroom with John Murphy, she resolved to put away her more somber thoughts and enjoy the two weeks of freedom she _did_ get.

She left the room, bidding Mr. Pike a good summer, and quickly was caught into the fray of celebrating students, kids hugging and making their goodbyes, laughing and discussing summer plans as they took pictures and signed yearbooks.

It was a typical last day of school scene, and Clarke couldn't help but smile, even as she felt somewhat removed from it all, and wondered, not for the first time, if she'd ever feel like a normal kid again.

“Whaddup, Griffin!” An arm was thrown around her shoulders, and she turned a little to see Raven, looking ebullient. “This year from hell is done! Sophomores no more. Upperclassmen, bitches!” She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, gleeful. “Time to work on actually _challenging_ things this summer. I have more than a few projects waiting for me.”

Clarke snorted. “Please don't hack the NSA, Raven.” Seeing Raven’s expression, she added, “Or the CIA, the FBI, or any other acronym government agency. I don't care how tantalizing their firewalls are.”

Raven still looked a little shifty, and Clarke said, her eyes narrowing, “And yes, that includes NASA.”

Raven opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off by another voice. “You'll have to wait to join them before they'll tell you where they're hiding the aliens, Rae.”

Clarke laughed aloud at that, turning to grin at Wells, who had caught up with them, slinging his arm around Clarke’s other side so that she was sandwiched between them.

Raven groaned. “God, y'all are such squares, I swear.” Growing suddenly serious, she added, “And nothing will keep me from finding where they're hiding them. _Nothing_.”

“…Right,” Wells replied after a long, dubious silence. “You do know they'll only reveal themselves to _intelligent_ life, right?”

“Oh ho ho, we got a jokester here. Well, joke’s on you, _Jaha_ , you know full well you're talking to a genius level—”

Clarke couldn't help her grin as the two of them squabbled. Wells was typically too sweet to function, but he got a peculiar joy from nettling Raven, who never failed to take the bait, guaranteeing some first class entertainment for Clarke.

They showed no signs of letting up as Clarke steered them to her locker, quickly undoing the lock and sweeping the whole mess of crumpled notes, old granola bar wrappers, and textbooks into her backpack, and then sticking her head in to make sure nothing of import had gotten jammed into the cracks.

“And I thought you and Anya were bad.”

Clarke jumped, her head connecting with the metal roof of the locker in a very unpleasant fashion, and staggered back with a yelp, clutching her hands to the afflicted spot.

A hand reached out and stilled her before she could do anything more embarrassing yet, and she forced her eyes open to see a very surprised and apologetic looking Lexa.

“Clarke, I'm so sorry, are you okay?” She grasped Clarke’s head in both hands, tilting it down to examine it. “Are you hurt? That didn't sound pretty, do you need to go to the nurse—“

“Lexa.” Clarke reached up, grasping one of Lexa’s wrists. “I'm fine. You just startled me.”

Lexa paused in her anxious inspection. “I see. I'm sorry, I thought you heard me coming.”

Clarke just shook her head, suddenly very aware of Lexa’s hands still clasped on either side of her head, as if gracing her with some sort of benediction. This was the closest they'd been in weeks, and even through the throbbing in her head was painfully aware of how close Lexa’s face was to hers, how goddamn _attractive_ Lexa was. Almost of their own volition, her eyes dipped down to her lips before meeting Lexa’s eyes — so incredibly green — once more, struck by a feeling she hadn't felt in months—

“ _Hi_ , Lexa.”

They sprang apart, turning to see Raven and Wells watching them, Wells bemused, Raven a cross between exasperation and amusement, her arms crossed and a brow raised. Clarke felt herself redden — she'd forgotten their presence entirely — and a glance at Lexa confirmed she was no better off.

“Raven! Wells!” Lexa was hopelessly flustered, but tried valiantly to regain her dignity. “What's up?”

“Oh, just watching the show, that's all,” Raven replied, and though Wells tried to hide it Clarke saw the way his lips twitched. _Traitors!_

“Oh…um…haha,” Lexa said, completely unconvincingly. “Wow, last day of school, huh? So crazy.”

Lexa was good at many things, Clarke thought despairingly, but smoothly changing the subject was not one of them.

Mercifully, Wells and Raven — after exchanging a glance — opted to let it go, Wells nodding. “Yup. It always sneaks up on me.”

“Seriously. I, for one, am completely done with this year. The end couldn't come quick enough,” Raven said, then almost immediately winced at her choice of phrasing, shooting Clarke an apologetic look. “Shit, um, I mean, that's not—”

“It's okay, Rae. I'm glad it's over, too.”

Wells and Lexa murmured their agreement, but despite the attempt at glossing over the moment, a gloom had already settled over the four of them, the reminder of Clarke’s loss taking the levity out of their easy banter.

Clarke's heart sank, both in real sorrow and in a sort of disappointed recognition that — for better or for worse — some aspects of their group dynamic were going to change, because their lives had changed. _She_ had changed.

“Yo, high schoolers!”

Anya strolled up, looking enormously smug and entirely oblivious — or possibly indifferent — to the awkward moment she was walking in on. “I, high school graduate, Anya Woods, have decided to grace you all with my presence.” She burnished her nails against her shirt, comically self-satisfied. “I’d say I'm going to miss this place, but then, I've never been a liar.”

All four of them snorted at that, and then, at Anya’s look of outrage, burst into laughter, the tension disappearing as quickly as it had come.

As they didn't hesitate to lay into her, Anya scowling more and more at the ribbing until Raven came to her defense — drawing her own round of boos in the process — Clarke couldn't help but feel a bit lighter. Some things would change. That was the way of life. But maybe not everything.

The feel of a hand slipping into her own, squeezing once before letting go — Clarke glancing over just in time to catch Lexa looking away — just made the feeling that much stronger.

 

**

That weekend, the graduating class of Arkadia High School and their friends and family gathered in the school’s cavernous auditorium to watch the seniors in question receive their diplomas. Abby, Clarke, Lexa, Maya, Raven, and the rest of Anya’s friends (not that she would ever call them that) were no exception, and true to their word, when Anya’s name was called, made a din as loud as they possibly could, Raven even producing a very banned airhorn — to Anya’s horror, even visible all the way from where they were seated — and unleashing its unholy wail.

Afterwards, once they’d finally located Anya in the crush of people and taken several dozen pictures — all at Abby’s urging, and only after she’d chided Anya into putting her cap and gown, already discarded and slung over her arm, back on — Abby gave Anya a long hug, Anya, for once, allowing it without comment. She didn’t mention the tears visible in Abby’s eyes, either.

They were all missing Jake. It was impossible not to — this was a goal, a milestone he’d regularly commented on, and beyond that was the first big life development in the Griffin household since his untimely passing.

But Clarke knew that her mother was determined to not let his absence ruin the event, either. This was Anya’s day, one she’d worked hard to earn, and it was unfair that that achievement be overshadowed.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t remembered, though. And when they got home from Anya’s celebratory dinner, Clarke retreated to her room, needing to be alone so that she could have the space to give in to her tears, the awful realization that he would never attend _her_ high school graduation — or any graduation after that — biting deep.

And just like that, summer was upon them once more. Clarke still couldn’t really square with the fact that the school term was over, that it had almost been a _year_ since the Woods girls had moved into her house and her life and changed it forever.

Last summer, she’d spent her days sleeping in, hanging out with Raven and Wells, and binge-watching shows on Netflix, content to fully veg out until school started — until, of course, her father dropped a minor bombshell on her.

This summer, so far, she wasn’t doing anything overly different — except with the obvious changes to the household, including the two similarly-aged housemates she had to keep her company as she did them. Especially the Netflix bingeing.

(Clarke had always watched shows sprawled out on the couch in the den, and had been happy to let Anya or Lexa join in on whatever she was watching whenever one of them wandered in. After the fourth three-way argument about what to watch, though — Clarke pushing for _Parks & Rec_, Lexa for _Orange is the New Black_ , and Anya for _The Punisher_ — Clarke had unceremoniously dropped all pretense of democratic watching, and henceforth anyone who wanted to join her in whatever she was _already watching_ was more than welcome.)

Still, it was nice spending time with them, now that she was in a healthier frame of mind. She was even having positive interactions with her mom, proving that miracles really were possible.

More than anything, though, it was nice spending time with Lexa. Even though that tension that had hummed between them when they’d met was undeniably back, Clarke felt no pressure to act on it, and Lexa seemed to feel the same, and though there were the inevitable awkward moments now and again they seemed mostly to be able to regain the easy conversation and banter Clarke had liked so much.

And sometimes, they’d be sitting on the couch together in amiable silence, feeling no compulsion to talk, and their eyes would meet. And Clarke would feel...something, and wonder.

Clarke knew Lexa pretty well, she thought, but she didn’t pretend to know the girl’s thoughts on this subject, on _them_. And she was too afraid to ask, too afraid to hear the answer. Especially when her own thoughts and feelings were still so jumbled.

The two weeks she had off before summer school passed much in this way, and before she knew it her all-too-brief break was over.

Summer school was both as monotonous and torturous as expected, but though she typically didn’t hang with Murphy that much had always found his cutting sarcasm more amusing than she’d admit, and after a day full of muttered, dry observations about their situation — not too far off from the darker sides of her own humor — decided that she’d take the entertainment she could get.

Classes weren’t really the main thing on her mind that week, anyway. It was June, now, and Anya’s birthday was on Friday. The day that Clarke, when her dad had first told her two strangers were coming to live with them, thought would never come was here: Anya was turning eighteen, and aging out of the system. And taking Lexa with her.

Okay, she knew that neither of them was actually _going_ anywhere, but...did she? What if Anya, or Lexa, or both decided that they were better off elsewhere? Without a probably-still-crazy mother and daughter in the mix, and where they wouldn’t have to play mediator or caretaker or any other undesired role?

That same thought, of the two of them — of _Lexa_ — leaving her behind, had made her crumple completely just months ago. Now, it still scared her, and saddened her, but she kept her head up. She was determined to keep moving forward, and more importantly, let them do whatever they thought was best for themselves, free from any guilt or perceived obligation. Regardless of her fear, of her _feelings_.

She owed them that much.

 

**

Anya opened her eyes. The off-white of the ceiling greeted her, and she wondered what had woken her.

As she lay there, somewhere between sleep and full wakefulness, something bounced off her cheek. And then, a moment later, her nose. And then off her forehead.

Becoming aware that she was, in fact, being pelted, she blinked fully into alertness, turning her head to see Lexa sitting cross legged on her own bed a few feet away, a pile of small balls of crumpled paper next to her and eyes squinted in concentration, arm pulled back to continue the assault.

An arm that froze as their eyes met. Lexa looked caught for a split second, but that look quickly turned to smug amusement, and then, to Anya’s outrage, she reared back and threw the ball anyway.

Anya just managed to dodge it as she propped herself up on her elbows, scowling as she spotted scores of the little projectiles dotting her sheets, proof that the attack had been going on for a while. “Can I help you with something?”

Lexa just smirked. “You were taking too long to wake up. I got bored.”

Anya’s scowl deepened.

Lexa looked back, apparently unperturbed.

“You got _bored_.”

A nod.

“And why,” Anya growled, trying and failing to keep a lid on her temper that only rose the longer Lexa kept up that shit-eating grin, “Does my wakefulness affect this?”

“Wellllll,” Lexa drawled, looking at her nails with exaggerated casualness, “Normally, no. But it’s not every day you turn eighteen, become legal, age out of the system, are officially an adult, et cetera, et cetera.”

She waited. Looked up from her nails to cast a sly glance at Anya.

Who, for her part, was gawking at her. Okay, she hadn’t forgotten, obviously — that was impossible — but she’d just woken up and things were taking a long time to permeate and register and just, wow, this was a lot of information to receive roughly two minutes after regaining consciousness.

“Are you alive?”

The question managed to filter through, and Anya snapped her mouth shut, realizing it was hanging open, and reached over to snatch her phone off the nightstand. The date on the lock screen told no lies, and between that and the texts already crowding the screen — exclamation mark-filled messages from Clarke, from Raven, from her boxing instructor — she could only collapse back onto the bed, mind whirring.

Eighteen. She was eighteen.

From the day she’d sat in the social worker’s drab office in a squat government building — only days after her parents had died — and listened emotionlessly as the worker told her that there were no relatives immediately apparent that could take her and her sister in, that they were now wards of the state and would enter the care of Child Protective Services, she’d counted down to this day.

Ten years and six months. It may as well have been fifty.

Still, she counted. Nine years. Seven years. Five years. Two years. And a seemingly endless series of schools, foster parents, social workers, foster homes, group homes, and more in the process. It had all begun to blur.

And even so, the desire, the thing that had kept her going, was simple: make it to the other side. To where she had her freedom. Could make her own choices. Be beholden to no one but her sister. 

Her sister. The most constant presence in Anya’s life, even and especially when she fucked up. Without whom she would’ve lost it long ago. Who had pushed her as much as she’d strengthened her.

And who, Anya realized abruptly, was being far too quiet. She looked up in time to see Lexa launching herself off her bed with a rare, impish grin, body directed straight towards Anya, who barely had time to bring her arms up before her sister crashed straight into her.

Surprise tackle attacks had been a not uncommon occurrence throughout their childhood, either in play or when they were actually having a rare but not unheard of argument, and it seemed Lexa was bringing it back for the occasion.

After a few minutes of vying for possession of the bed — traditionally, whoever got pushed off the bed was understood to be the loser of the little duals, with the victor getting bragging rights and a feeling of superiority for at least the rest of the day — involving Lexa knocking most of the wind out of Anya, Anya putting Lexa into a headlock, and general increasingly uncoordinated scuffling, Lexa was, at long last, pushed off, though it was close.

Anya sprawled out triumphantly, content that she had, at least for now, confirmed her older-sister dominance. Lexa sat up with a huff, and Anya smiled sweetly. “Looks like I’ve still got it.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Oh, whatever. Birthday luck.”

“If that’s what we’re calling it.”

“We are.” Lexa stood up. “Scoot over.”

Anya did, and Lexa squeezed in next to her on the twin. They sat in silence for a moment, before Lexa spoke. “So...how do you feel?”

Anya tipped her head back, pondering the ceiling as she considered the question. How _did_ she feel? “I...dunno. It hasn’t really sunk in yet. I mean, I don’t _feel_ any different.”

“Really? No sage advice from the legal adult?”

Anya cast a wry look at her, and Lexa laughed. “Thought it was worth an ask.”

Anya snorted. “Right. It doesn’t feel real, Lex. I can’t really believe it.”

“Yeah. Well, Maya’s coming over later to go over stuff, I’m sure it’ll feel real enough then.”

“I guess.” Anya looked over at her. “What about you? This affects you too, obviously.”

Lexa looked down at her knees, drawn up to her chest. “Yeah...I guess it’s just hard to believe we really made it. It’s been _years_ , Anya.” Then, sounding as if she was confessing something, added, her voice softer, “I didn’t always know if we would.”

Anya blinked at her. Of the two of them, Lexa had always, when it came to self-control and implacable will, been the stronger one, never giving into her emotions the way Anya was prone to doing. She, as far as Anya could tell, hardly wavered. That wasn’t to say Anya had never seen her uncertain, or weak, of course not. But this kind of open confession of it was still a little surprising.

She reached down between them, taking Lexa’s hand; her sister returned the grip tightly. Finding her voice, she asked — hearing the uncertainty but not hard-pressed to conceal it — “So...what do we now?”

Lexa didn’t say anything for a long moment. When she spoke, it was with both fear and wonder. “Whatever we want, I guess.” She continued, picking up some confidence. “You’ll find a college somewhere that’ll take you—” She dodged Anya’s elbow to her side — “I’ll be a senior, we’ll find out what we wanna do with our lives, and...I dunno, live.”

“How simple,” Anya said wryly. “Why didn’t I think of that.” Her smile faded. “And...the Griffins?”

Lexa met her eyes. Any uncertainty or doubt had been wiped clear from her stare. “I think we made our position clear when we decided to stay.” She quirked a brow. “Right?”

Anya held her gaze for a long moment, before dipping her head in affirmation. “Right.”

“Good.” Lexa smiled suddenly. “Oh, and I guess I never said it...happy birthday, sis.”

Anya just smiled.

There was nothing to be said after that, and the Woods sisters sat squeezed on Anya’s bed, gripping hands as they pondered what their future held and all the steps and struggles and years that had led them there.

 

**

“Hey, Dr. G, you ready? We’re all at the do— oh.” Anya stopped short in the doorway of Abby’s bedroom, abashed.

Abby hastily wiped her face, grabbing a tissue from her vanity, where she sat, to blot her eyes. “Oh, Anya! Yes, yes, I’m coming now.”

Anya hovered in the entry, clearly torn, before taking a few uncertain steps inside. “Are you, um, okay?”

Abby couldn’t help but smile, wavering though it was. “Haven’t we already done this once?”

Anya smiled ruefully, but didn’t let up. “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. It’s okay if it happens more than once.”

“I suppose.” Abby focused on folding the tissue still clenched in her hands into smaller and smaller squares as she sought to regain her composure. On this of all days, none of the girls, and especially Anya, should see her cry.

“Hey, doc. I get it, you know? I really wish he was here, too.”

Abby stopped her folding, staring at the little white square as if it could stop the burning in her eyes.

Anya continued, her voice gentle. “He would’ve been so excited. He talked about today all the time, didn’t he? Threatened to break out the party hats and noise makers.”

Abby laughed despite herself. “I think we have some in a closet somewhere, I can dig them out if you like.”

“Uh, no,” Anya said hastily. “That’s okay. But, I just want to say...it’s okay to miss him. To be sad about it. Even today.”

Abby looked up sharply at that — Anya had managed to hit on her exact worry. The girl just smiled at her, the sharpness of her face softened by the clear empathy there. Abby was suddenly reminded of that first, rough, encounter they’d had, in the ER — the angry, scared girl, protecting her sister and nearly charging Abby in the process.

How far they’d come.

Abby let out a breath, tossing the tissue onto the vanity and rising. Anya watched her, clearly still a little concerned, but Abby just smiled, and then — slowly so that Anya could move away if she wanted — gently placed her hands on either side of Anya’s face. Anya’s eyes widened a bit, but she just watched Abby, making no attempt to shrug her off.

“You can try to hide it all you like,” Abby said gently, “but you, Anya, have one of the kindest and most sincere hearts I’ve ever come across. Being your foster parent will always be one of the greatest pleasures of my life.” She paused, before leaning forward to press a kiss to Anya’s forehead.

Anya’s breath caught minutely, but she neither stiffened nor jerked away, and stood stock still even after Abby dropped her hands. Abby looked at her with no small amount of fondness, and said, “Happy birthday.”

She stepped away then, some amount of her usual business-like tone returning. “And now, I understand there’s a burger with your name on it. Let’s go see if we can find it, shall we?”

She headed for the door, clearly expecting Anya to follow. Anya stood rooted to the ground, watching her go, before raising a surreptitious hand to hastily wipe at her eyes. Only after a few shaky breaths — and impatient calls from the foyer — did she leave the room.

 

**

“To Anya, our newly-legal eighteen year old!”

The group at the table let out a cheer, and Anya seemed pleased despite herself, even staying seated as the rest of them sang “Happy Birthday” as obnoxiously loud as possible. The six of them — Anya had, to Clarke and Lexa’s pleasant surprise, invited Raven and Wells along — were at the burger joint that had quickly become Anya’s favorite, and had been her choice even after Abby had carefully suggested that she might, for her birthday, prefer somewhere more... _upscale_.

But Anya had known what she wanted, and Abby, to her credit, said not a single word about the piles of hamburgers, fries, and finally, milkshakes devoured in front of her.

The group had been in high spirits the entire meal; for Anya, of course, but also because the outing seemed to have some larger significance. First, what this birthday meant for Anya and Lexa, how it signaled a life shift of no mean importance for them both, but beyond that, there was some air of hope, of optimism imbued in them all.

It had been an exhausting, heartbreaking year, marked by loss and grief. Even now — or perhaps especially now — Jake's absence was felt, the lulls in the conversation where his cheesy dad jokes would've gone, the silly but entirely heartfelt toast he would've made, the bear hug he would've given Anya and Lexa and the kiss he would've pressed to Clarke's hair.

But this year had also brought good. It had brought Anya and Lexa to the Griffins, and in doing so had, in time, proved to give the Griffins two new family members. When disaster had struck, it had been Anya and Lexa who had kept Abby and Clarke from splintering, perhaps irrevocably, an effort that had never been expected or asked of them but that they had assumed freely.

It had been that, they would all agree later, that had really cemented them as family.

Even Maya, earlier that day, had seemed inclined to agree. She had, as promised, come to the house to meet with them, both to wish Anya but also to formally discharge them from the state’s care, discuss the next steps now that Anya had aged out, what support she could expect henceforth from the agency and so on.

_Maya, after the greetings and pleasantries, had approached Anya, not trying for a hug but holding her hand out just the same. Anya — after considering it for a moment — returned the gesture, and they shook hands._

_“Happy birthday, Anya, and congratulations.”_

_“Thanks.” Anya paused. “And, um, what for?”_

_The social worker observed her for a moment, until Anya scowled, awkward under the inspection. “What?”_

_Maya had smiled a little. “You’ve come a long way since we first met. I’m very proud of you.”_

_Anya didn’t reply, not sure what to say, but Maya was unbothered, continuing, “Well, as I’ve discussed with Dr. Griffin and you both, I understand that you and Lexa will continue to live here, for at least another year.”_

_Anya nodded warily. “At least until Lexa graduates, and I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”_

_Maya had looked amused. “Well, that’s something we can certainly discuss.” She grew serious, considering the girl before her. “I know we’ve had our differences, Anya, but I hope you know your and Lexa’s well being was always my primary concern. Now that you’re an adult — legally speaking — you’ll make your own choices, and I know you’ll always do what’s best for you and Lexa.”_

_Anya looked at her, unsure of where she was going with this, and replied cautiously, “Yeah, I know. And of course I will.”_

_“Good,” Maya said, smiling again. “If I may say so, even despite my reservations, it seems that this is far from the worst outcome. Dr. Griffin and Clarke both appear to be carrying on as best as possible, which I’m sure is in no small part thanks to you and Lexa.”_

_Anya just shrugged, awkward again, but Maya continued, undeterred. “And I think it’s clear that being here has done a great deal for both of you as well.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps been more than just a foster home?”_

_Anya had met Maya’s gaze at this, and Maya held it, almost challenging. Finally, Anya looked away, not contesting the point._

_“Well then!” Maya clapped her hands together. “We have quite a few things to discuss, so let’s get started, shall we?”_

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Anya think that hard.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Anya visibly _think_. She usually just murders people with her eyes.”

The burst of amused “oohs” and laughter this sparked was what finally roused Anya from her musings on Maya’s words — the napkin thrown her way helped too.

She tossed back at it Raven, scoffing. “Is there something about my birthday that makes people want to throw things at me?”

Raven smirked. “Eh, it was amusing.” She rested her chin on her hand, looking at Anya a little challengingly. “Sooo,” she drawled, “Share with the group. What’s your first move as an adult?”

Anya stiffened at the full attention of the group focused on her, barely holding in her scowl at Raven, who was looking entirely too pleased. She liked teasing Anya way too much, and worse, Anya let her. “Uh...you know,” she made herself relax, “Register to vote...buy some cigarettes…”

“Anya!” The scandalized cry came from both Abby and Clarke, who then paused and glanced at each other awkwardly, clearly not used to being on the same side of an argument, while Lexa and Wells laughed and Anya just smirked, looking satisfied.

“I’m _sure_ Anya will make good choices,” Abby said finally, sending a warning glance around the entire table. Anya had the good sense to just nod silently along.

“But really, has it sunk in?” Wells, unsurprisingly, was the first to ask a legitimate question.

Anya blew out a breath, leaning back. “Um…” That’s what she’d been trying to decide all day. “Sort of. Maybe? I think...the first time I can decide something about my life, something big, without having to get someone’s permission...it’ll feel real then.”

She slouched in her chair, feeling awkward and a little exposed after being so uncharacteristically open. She’d never had volunteered it in the first place, were she not feeling so light and free, and around people she actually liked.

To her relief, there was just a murmur of assent around the table, and as she looked around she caught Raven’s eye. The girl smiled at her, completely sincere, and Anya couldn’t help but return it.

“Well, I don’t know about you, Anya,” Clarke cut in, smiling wryly, “But I just wanna say that even though we got off to an, um, rough start, you’ve both started to grow on me. A little. And,” she added magnanimously, “I’ve decided I’m okay with you guys staying.”

Anya raised a brow. “I think one of us did more _growing_ on you than the other, but—” she spoke over Clarke’s sputtering, at the same time smoothly moving her ankle out of Lexa’s kicking range, “Thanks anyway, princess. You’re...not the worst housemate, and your, ah, _generosity_ is noted.”

She sat back, her eternal pleasure at riling up Clarke getting satisfied once more as the girl, ever predictable, puffed up in outrage, clearly preparing to deliver a full-on lecture; she could see Lexa, from the corner of her eye, put her head in her hands as Raven took out her phone, almost definitely intending to Snap the whole thing.

All in all, it was a pretty good birthday.

 

**

After dinner, the group headed back to Griffins,’ where a cake was produced, “Happy Birthday” was sung, again, and Taboo was broken out, which they played for a bit until Wells and Raven finally begged off; it was a weeknight, after all, and Wells had his summer job and Raven, her unsurprisingly intensive research internship that Clarke was pretty sure technically wasn’t even available to high schoolers. (They also reminded her that _she_ had summer school in the morning, but she cheerfully ignored this.)

Wells left first, hugging Dr. Griffin and Clarke goodbye, waving at Lexa, and wishing Anya a final time before heading out to his car (“Stop calling it the Swagon, Wells”). As he was stepping out, though, Clarke jumped up to join him, and they walked down the driveway to where his Subaru was parked. “Thanks for coming, Wellsy. It was nice seeing you.”

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, but just said, “Anytime, C.”

Clarke looked down at her feet for a second. He waited patiently, bless him. “I know I haven’t been the best friend lately, and...been really MIA...but—”

“Hey, hey, Clarke,” he took her by the shoulders, looking at her intently. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it, _really_. And…” he sighed, dropping his hands, “You know you can talk to me about it, or anything else. I, just, I sometimes feel like I’m not being there for you like I should…”

“What? No, Wells,” Clarke protested, her own guilt temporarily eclipsed with surprise. “You’ve been there whenever I needed you. You and Raven both have been there.”

Wells eyed her. “Yeah?”

She nodded firmly. “ _Yes_.”

He studied her for a bit longer before smiling, a little tentative. “Good.”

Clarke smiled back and said, clearly amused, “So were we both just feeling guilty?”

He looked surprised for a second before laughing. “Yeah. Guess so.”

“Typical.”

“Hey, better than not caring, right?”

“True.”

They were quiet for a moment, until he said, a little jokingly, “So. Friends?”

Clarke didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

He beamed, and they subsided into comfortable silence for a moment. Until Wells spoke up. “So…”

She eyed him, noticing his tone shift. “What?”

He shoved his hands into his back pockets, looking a bit shifty, and Clarke narrowed her eyes. “What.”

He flicked a glance at her. “So what’s going on with you and Lexa?”

The question was totally out of left field, and Clarke felt her mouth drop open a little. “W-what?”

Wells had the grace to look a bit abashed, but stood his ground. “C’mon, Clarke. I’ve known you since we were three, remember?”

“Um, yes, but not really sure where you’re going with this, Wells.”

“ _So_ , I know you. And well, I _saw_ you. At dinner. You weren’t exactly being...subtle.”

She gaped at him. Okay, yes, it wasn’t exactly news that her feelings for and about Lexa were once again a tangled mess, and fine, it was true that she hadn’t really been able to look away from Lexa during dinner, but...but…

Wells raised his eyebrows, and she let out a groan. “Oh, god.”

He patted her on the arm commiseratingly. “I know, I know.”

“That makes one of us,” she said miserably. “I don’t really know _anything_ these days. Least of all what I want.”

He looked at her cautiously. “Because of...everything?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Well, sort of. I mean, at first, and for months after that, that was the farthest thing from my mind. I couldn’t even _think_ of it. It was just...too much. After everything that had happened.”

“And now?” He prompted gently, after she fell silent for a long moment.

“Now...I don’t know.” She stared at the ground. “This last month...just being around her, with her...she’s helped me so much, Wells, just by being there, and it’s like...I’m just being reminded, all the time, that she’s still all the things I liked, but somehow now even _more_.”

She looked up to see him smiling at her, a little ruefully. “Well, yeah. That’s what it feels like.” He paused for a moment. “Well...maybe I’m stating the obvious, but...Anya’s been discharged; _she’s_ been discharged. You’re not foster siblings anymore, at least.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. There’s that. Too bad we have tons of other baggage now.”

He shrugged. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I never got the sense that that was your mom’s biggest issue. Maybe y’all could figure it out, who knows?”

“But Wells—” she blurted, before stopping short. She took a breath, aware she sounded a bit pathetic. “I don’t even know what she wants. If that’s something she wants.”

He sent her a wry glance. “If only there was a way you could somehow interact with her to figure that out. My two cents, though...she was looking at you at dinner, too, Clarke. I don’t think you’ve ever been alone in this.”

She had nothing to say to that, and after a second he stepped closer, wrapping her in a hug. She relaxed into it gratefully; he was her oldest friend, and she didn’t think his presence would ever be anything but comforting. “Whatever happens,” he said softly, “I’m on Team Clarke, for the record.”

That successfully surprised a laugh out of her, and she leaned away, grinning fondly. “Like you ever had a choice, asshole.”

They parted soon after, Wells finally driving off after their unexpectedly long heart-to-heart. She walked back into the house, feeling somehow both lighter and heavier; her guilt at the distance she’d felt between herself and Wells had been assuaged, and she always felt better after talking with him, but his words had also left her utterly out of sorts. The funny thing was he hadn’t said anything she hadn’t been already thinking more and more to herself, the past few weeks, but it always sounded different, more _real_ , coming from someone else.

Lexa looked at her askance when she returned to the den, no doubt surprised by how long she’d been outside, but Clarke waved her off, and after another, somewhat phoned-in round of Taboo, excused herself, suddenly needing to be alone. She needed her space. She needed to think.

 

**

And that’s what she did, lying awake in bed that night, into the next morning, and stretching out into the day, so distant and distracted in class that Murphy finally turned from her in disgust, their usual sarcastic commentary in the back row not quite as entertaining when one member failed completely to contribute to the banter.

Clarke wouldn’t have even been able to tell what they went over in class that day if asked, much more pressing matters occupying all available space in her mind.

Her conversation with Wells had ignited the dry brush of her own thoughts on the matter, that had been slowly accumulating for more than a few weeks.

Lexa.

What did she want? What did _Clarke_ want?

The thing was, the brief time they had been together was only a fraction of the overall time they’d known each other. It was still the happiest Clarke had been in her life thus far.

When the unthinkable had happened, cutting her life into two and putting a sudden, horrible stop to _them_ — and everything else — she had assumed, _believed_ , that that was it for them; everything was too tainted and stained, now, and neither of them would ever be able to find their way to each other, amidst the burning wreckage, again.

And that, for a time, may have been true. Clarke — and Lexa, honestly — hadn’t been anywhere close to being in a healthy place to even consider the idea.

And yet. Even knowing that, even dealing with her own grief, her own struggles, and with no expectation of _anything_ , Lexa had never forgotten or abandoned Clarke. She’d been there for her when it felt like truly no one else was. It had been going above and beyond what could ever be reasonably be expected of her, and though she would’ve been made even more distraught at the time, Clarke now thought that she could hardly have blamed Lexa had the girl left, gone to find somewhere more stable such that she could focus on healing herself.

But that wasn’t Lexa. Clarke knew her well enough now to know that. And she also believed that _had_ Lexa left, Clarke wouldn’t have survived. Not as she was now, anyway. Looking back, at how she’d been, at how her mom had been, she could only shudder. She thought now that had the Woods sisters not been there, and decided to go, they might have irrevocably splintered.

She’d spent a lot of time wondering about it. Trying to figure out why anyone would put themselves through it. Even discussed it, in a roundabout sort of way, with her therapist.

Finally, she’d landed on the only conclusion she had left, that was so obvious and yet hard to really believe. They...had wanted to. They had decided to stay at the Griffins,’ and in doing so accept all the shit and heartbreak that they must’ve known came with it.

Clarke could only wonder if she, in similar circumstances, would do the same.

All that was to say she didn’t, now, know what to do, or how to proceed. She had accepted that despite everything, _after_ everything, she still had feelings for Lexa. And she knew she was young, had so much still to experience, but...she also kind of thought that if these feelings could survive all they’d gone through — even, in a strange way, become deeper, strengthened by what they had shared and endured together — they might outlast the typical high school fling.

But she was so scared. There were so many reasons why, internal and external.

The one saving grace was that — she didn’t think — her mom wasn’t one of them. Or, perhaps, not in the worst, existential way Clarke had feared. It had been a topic she’d been avoiding for as long as possible, too scared of what the answer might be, but in the end had felt endlessly better for having exorcised it, and relieving a burden she’d only vaguely acknowledged to be present in the process.

_They'd been sitting in the kitchen on a rare Thursday evening when neither Anya nor Lexa was home, Lexa out for a run and Anya just "out," which, Clarke knew, probably meant with Raven somewhere._

_For once, it wasn't as awkward as it usually seemed to be. Clarke chalked it up to the fact that they were both occupied in their own tasks; Clarke with a history paper, her mom with reviewing some patient records. It seemed, at least, that they were able to coexist in the same space, and have it be almost...peaceful._

_She stared at her laptop screen. Six citations was...so many. This really seemed like overkill for a summer school assignment. But Mr. Pike had made it clear this was not up for negotiation, and it wasn't like not passing this class was an option. Clarke was finally gritting her teeth and preparing to dive back into the web to find more sources, when her mom unexpectedly broke the silence._

_"How are your classes going?"_

_Clarke looked up. "Oh. Um...not bad. They're kinda fast-paced, but that's not surprising, I guess."_

_Abby hummed distractedly, turning a page of the records she was looking at. "Let me know if it gets to be too much. I can always talk to Thelonious."_

_Clarke made a face. "Mom, you really can't go complaining to Wells' dad anytime you think I'm being wronged. It's super awkward and, like, never necessary."_

_Her mom finally looked up at that, peering at her through her reading glasses. "Sweetheart, I'm just looking out for you." She sniffed. "And anyway, aside from having known Thelonious for years, I_ am _on the Board. It's hardly, as you put it, awkward."_

_"But that's exactly why you shouldn't—" Clarke stopped herself, exhaling through her nose. There was no point getting riled up. "Look, Mom. I'm fine, okay? Really. There's no need to talk to Mr. Jaha."_

_Abby gazed at her for a moment before shrugging and picking her papers back up. "Alright, Clarke. It was just an option."_

_Clarke waited for her to look down before letting out an imperceptible sigh. The hard thing was that she knew her mom always, always meant well. It what was made staying mad at her so hard. But they pretty much always had different ideas of how to do things._

_She turned back to her laptop, but couldn’t focus on the screen as her thoughts continued to turn. Things were better with her mom, such that they could even have little exchanges like these without anything boiling up or anything taken at more than face value. But there were still things they hadn’t discussed. Big things. Things Clarke was too afraid to bring up, too afraid to shatter the tender peace, the fragile beginning they had constructed._

_That didn’t mean she didn’t think about it, though. In the night, when she could be most honest with herself. Worry that unless she could bring herself to ask the things she needed to know, a tension would always exist in their relationship._

_Clarke stared blindly at the screen. They had a chance to move forward. But only if she could be brave._

_And she already knew what her dad would want her to do._

_“Mom?”_

_“Hmm?” Abby was distracted again._

_“I…” Clarke took a breath, held it. Felt almost nauseous with fear. “I never asked.”_

_Abby set down her papers, properly focusing on her daughter. “Asked what?”_

_“If…” Be brave, Clarke. “If you were mad at me.” She finally looked away from the laptop, meeting Abby’s eyes. “About Dad.”_

_Clarke didn’t think she’d ever seen her mom so taken aback. She’d clearly not been expecting this, and Clarke raced to explain. “It- it’s just...we’ve never talked about it, but- everything that- that happened—” She had to stop, her voice cracking, her eyes squeezing shut. It was still practically impossible to talk about this, and there was no stopping the grief that welled up in her chest, or the tears that burned in her eyes. She thought she was fine, that she was better, but the reminder always came that some things would never fully heal._

_Cool hands clasped her face, and she opened her eyes — feeling tears slide down her cheeks — to see her mom standing before her, clearly worried. “Clarke, what are you talking about? How could you think that?”_

_“Mom, we barely talked to each other for three weeks after Dad died,” Clarke said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was like- like you couldn’t look at me.”_

_It was Abby’s turn to close her eyes, and when she opened them again after a long moment Clarke could see the naked guilt and what almost looked like self-loathing there. “Oh, Clarke. No, honey. I—” she let out a sigh. “I wasn’t really...myself, those weeks. Everything hurt too much, and it blinded me to what was important: you. If anything, I’m mad at myself. For failing you.”_

_Clarke just stared at her, never expecting her mom to speak so frankly, or for her feelings to match Clarke’s so closely. But she still had to ask: “But...me and Lexa. Dad finding out about us.”_

_Abby surprised Clarke even more by smiling then, though it was more pained than anything else. “Oh, sweetheart. I was never mad about that. Your dad and I saw it coming. We loved —_ love _— Lexa, and it was clear how close you two were. We were concerned, obviously, due to Lexa’s circumstances, and how things seemed to develop between you two so...quickly. Looking back, we should’ve spoken to you_ both _about it, and been much clearer about our expectations.” Her smile became a bit more genuine. “Jake tried to do that, but he was never very good at being the bad cop.”_

_Clarke couldn’t help but smile at that. “He sucked at it, actually.”_

_“He did,” Abby agreed ruefully, before growing serious. “Listen, Clarke. What happened was...terrible. Unimaginable. And I know that you and I grieve every day. But I need you to know that you are not to blame. For any of it. Your dad loved you so much, sweetheart. He would never want you to carry this guilt. And…” Clarke’s eyes widened as Abby’s voice caught, tears shining in her eyes. “And I love you too, Clarke. So much. Regardless of what happens.”_

_Clarke stared at her, feeling more tears trailing down her face. “I miss him so much, Mom.”_

_Abby’s face twisted. “Me too. Every day.”_

_“Mom—” That was all she got out before she started crying in earnest, and her mom didn’t hesitate, pulling Clarke into her and holding her as Clarke sobbed into her shoulder, murmuring comfort all the while._

_“We’ll get through this, Clarke. It’ll be okay.”_

It had been a tectonic shift in their relationship, and though Clarke had felt a little awkward after — especially when Lexa, sweaty and windswept from her run, had walked in to see Clarke wiping her face as Abby stood over her — she felt immeasurably better for having gotten it out in the open, and off her chest.

It had been a help, an enormous one. But it didn’t assuage all of Clarke’s worries, because even not considering her mom, she still didn’t know if she was ready to act on these feelings, or if she even wanted to.

Just as significantly, she didn’t know if _Lexa_ wanted that, and she couldn’t exactly raise the topic without giving herself away.

And so, by the time the weekend rolled around, she had turned these thoughts over endlessly, always coming to the same unsatisfying questions and uncertainties. She didn’t know. She didn’t know.

In the end, it was Lexa who made her decision for her.

Clarke lay listlessly on her bed, staring at the ceiling and letting what Raven called her “depressing, mildly pretentious, and so neurotically minimalist I’m not sure it can actually be classified as music” wash over her. It matched her mood at the moment, anyway, and though she was aware her behavior at the moment could probably be described as “hiding” couldn’t bring herself to care.

She’d come out for breakfast, at least, eating her mom’s weekend pancakes and even managing a weak smile and some words of assent when Abby cheerfully proposed going to beach later that day and catching the sunset. She knew she was fooling approximately none of them — both Anya and Lexa had given her looks throughout the meal, Anya, bemused, Lexa, concerned — but that was probably unavoidable at this point.

It was easier to just stay in her room, while she tried to figure this out. No matter that it had been almost two days and she was no closer than when she’d started.

But she wanted to. And she was beginning to wonder if that didn’t carry some kind of significance in itself.

A knock on the door — the same knock she’d heard against the wood so many times in the past year, that never failed to bring a smile to her face — sounded, and she froze, panic coursing through her. She wasn’t ready, oh god, she wasn’t ready — but it was no good. The music blasting from her speakers made it quite clear she was in here, and any more attempts to cloister herself from the rest of the household would just draw more attention than it was worth.

She inhaled, held it, and then exhaled slowly. Sat up. Hit pause. Brushed her hair back from her face, having a brief, silly moment of panic at what she looked like, even though Lexa had literally seen her in her sweats and oversized t-shirt just a few hours earlier. “Come in.”

There was a pause, and then the knob turned, the door swinging open to reveal, sure enough, Lexa standing in the entry.

Clarke’s mouth twitched as she looked at Lexa, suddenly struck by how many times this very scene had played out between them.

In hindsight, she couldn’t help but wonder at the significance of that fact: Lexa never failed to come to her, to see if she was okay, to hang out, just to spend time with her.  

Lexa stood uncertainly, watching Clarke. “Um, hey.”

“Hey.”

“Is this, um, a good time?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, sure.” _Not like I was agonizing about you or us or anything._

Lexa stepped into the room, and Clarke noticed that she was holding something, a...rectangular box something, wrapped. Before she could ask about it, though, Lexa gestured to Clarke’s desk chair. “Can I sit?’

“Yeah, of course.” Clarke winced as she took in the omnipresent pile of clothes on the chair. “Uh...sorry about that.”

For the first time, Lexa seemed to relax, the corners of her mouth lifting. “I’d expect nothing less.” She moved the clothes in practiced motions that, to Clarke, was just another reminder of how many times they’d had these little rendezvous in her room, and sat.

They eyed each other, until Clarke couldn’t help but chuckle. Lexa raised her brows, and Clarke shook her head, smiling. “You have the same expression every time you come to my room wanting to talk to me about something, Lex. This isn’t exactly our first rodeo.”

Lexa looked like she wanted to protest, but she sat back after a second and just shrugged ruefully. “Yeah, well.”

Clarke gestured to the unidentified item, now resting on Lexa’s lap. “Is it related to...whatever that is?”

“Oh!” Lexa looked down at it, as if she herself had forgotten she had it. “Um, yes.” Any trace of her relaxation was gone, replaced entirely with nerves. She gripped the box in a vise, staring down at it before looking back up at Clarke. “I, um, well. I was just thinking, you know, that I wanted to, um, that is—”

“Lexa,” Clarke interrupted, her own nerves eclipsed by amusement. She hadn’t seen Lexa this nervous in ages. “Breathe. It’s just me.”

Lexa stopped at that, gazing at her before — as if with a conscious effort — her shoulders relaxed, and she blew out a breath, smiling at Clarke with a hint of shyness. “Sorry. I know.” She straightened, her expression now speaking only of sincerity, with a definite hint of tenderness. “I know you’ve been having a tough time, lately, Clarke. And I just...I wanted you to know that so many people support you, are with you.” She paused, seeming to gather her resolve, before saying, “And I’m one of them.”

She held out the wrapped box. “This is for you.”

Clarke looked at it, then back up at Lexa, feeling already as if her heart was overflowing. How, when Clarke was feeling so conflicted, could Lexa just come in and be so...Lexa? She tried for some levity. “Lex, it was just Anya’s birthday, mine’s not for another month.”

“I know that,” Lexa replied. “But still. This isn’t a birthday gift, it’s...just open it.”

Clarke looked at it, feeling unaccountably nervous. It was a wrapped gift, its size and weight oddly familiar, just bigger than an average book. She glanced up at Lexa, who smiled encouragingly at her, before turning it over to unwrap it. Underneath the wrapping paper was a white cardboard box; Clarke opened the flap on the side and tilted it. And out slid…

She felt her breath leave her in a gasp. She didn’t know how, but Lexa had managed to procure a twin to the heavy silver picture frame Clarke had gifted her at Christmas; where that frame held the photograph of Lexa and her parents, though, this one...Clarke felt her eyes begin to sting.

Smiling out from the frame was Jake, Abby, Anya, Clarke, and Lexa, the five of them looking a bit sunburnt and sweaty but in high spirits just the same; it was the photo snapped at the end of their hike on their pre-Thanksgiving camping trip, the trip that was only a few months and a lifetime ago.

And inscribed on the frame, was a single, simple word: “Family.”

“I’ll always remember my parents, Clarke,” she heard Lexa say, her voice gentle. “And be grateful that I have Anya. But you all… _you_ are my family, too.”

Clarke sat utterly still, feeling the words sink into her. Family. Family. A deceptively simple word, that meant so much. But Lexa’s words rang true. Lexa _was_ her family, had proven herself to be the best example of that word and all it meant. Proven that she would be that for Clarke, regardless of whatever else they might be to each other.

And suddenly, the conflict raging within her, the confusion and heartbreak, the uncertainty and doubt, quieted, leaving just her.

“—And I hope it’s not presumptuous of me,” Lexa was saying, clearly now nervous in the face of Clarke’s silence, unconsciously echoing Clarke’s own words, “But — I just wanted you to know that you have people, people who care—”

Her words were cut short as Clarke surged to her feet, still clutching the frame, and crossed the scant feet between them to press her lips to Lexa’s.

Lexa was frozen beneath her, in utter shock; Clarke pulled away after a few seconds, mortified and wishing for a hole to open up beneath her, but as she prepared to apologize, Lexa’s eyes — which had been closed through Clarke’s inner panic — opened.

Clarke felt her lips part at the wealth of emotion in Lexa’s eyes: astonishment, of course, and maybe some confusion, but most significant of all was the undeniable love that shone out. Clarke swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Lex, I—”

But Lexa didn’t give her the chance to finish, rising to her feet and taking Clarke by the waist, pulling her back in to kiss her again.

Clarke couldn’t help but gasp at the feel of Lexa against her. It felt like a lifetime since they had last been this close, been together like this, and Clarke realized only now how much she had missed it. Had missed _Lexa_. Her heart was full, fuller than, she thought, it had ever been, and she lost herself in relearning Lexa, the touch and taste of the girl who, she could admit to herself now, she had never stopped loving.  

When they parted, both breathing hard, they could, at first, only stare at each other. Clarke ran her eyes down Lexa’s face, struck again by just how damn attractive this girl was, and considered throwing caution to the wind and leaning back in.

But no. A degree of concern and confusion was entering Lexa’s gaze, now. “Clarke, what…”

“You have a hell of a sense of timing,” Clarke said, smiling wryly. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for days.”

“Figuring what out?”

“You,” Clarke said simply. “Us. We— we didn’t get that far, I know, but what we had was _real_ , Lex. And...after everything...you’ve put up with me, cared for me, like no one else. You’re my family, too.”

Lexa just stared at her, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with affection, yes, but mostly astonishment. “Clarke...I want you in my life any way I can have you. But if, if you’re feeling...obligated, in some way—”

Clarke took her hands, squeezing them. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know if I’m ready. But I _want_ to be. I want you, Lexa, and...I think we owe each other another shot.” She let out a breath, feeling utterly exposed. “What do you think?”

Lexa watched her for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “Clarke. I know you wondered why we stayed. We stayed because we care about you and Dr. Griffin, because we consider this our home.” Her gaze sharpened. “ _I_ stayed because I could never leave you. Not like that.”

Clarke could only watch her, eyes wide. “Lexa, I—”

“I know you’re not ready, or sure when you will be,” Lexa cut in, gazing at her fiercely, her hands gripping Clarke’s. “I don’t care. I’ll be here for as long as it takes.” She gave her what was almost a challenging look. “Okay?”

Clarke looked at her. She should’ve been overwhelmed — and a part of her, somewhere, probably was. But in that moment, Lexa’s words had managed to calm those emotions, quiet that raging storm. “Okay.”

Lexa smiled. “Good.”

They would have to discuss this, obviously. And Clarke knew that whatever fear was being kept at bay for now would surely come rushing back sooner or later. There was baggage between them that still had to be aired out. Most significantly, and most fear-inducingly, they would have to talk to Abby. It would take time.

All this should’ve been terrifying. But in this moment, Clarke could only feel brilliant, blinding joy.

 

When Anya came looking for them a few minutes later, sent by Abby to collect them so they could head for the beach, Clarke could only be thankful her stampede up the stairs was impossible to ignore, even when otherwise, er, _distracted_.

By the time Anya was sticking her head into the room, gaze sharpening at the sight of the two of them, and the framed photo on the bed, Clarke and Lexa were well apart, and aside from their rather flushed appearances entirely innocent.

Anya stared at them. Raised an eyebrow. Opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head. “C’mon, you two. Dr. G wants to get a good spot on the sand before sunset.”

They sprang up and filed out of the room, determinedly not looking at each other. Clarke glanced at Anya as she walked past her, and felt a spark of surprise at the amused — and not entirely displeased — smile that flitted across the the girl’s face, a smile that disappeared as soon as Clarke looked over. “Move any slower, princess, and I’ll be forced to conclude every victory ‘til now on your part has been a fluke.”

Clarke paused as the words registered, and by the time they did, Anya was racing for the steps, determined to beat Clarke to the front door in their eternal, ongoing struggle for speed bragging rights and general household dominance. Clarke was hot on her heels, shrieking about unfair starts, and the two blew past Lexa, Clarke barely catching a glimpse of her amused — and resigned — sigh as they charged past.

 

**

They made it to the beach just in time. In a surprise move, Abby had suggested they take the Jeep, and after a shocked moment they all agreed. Perhaps there was room to remember the good times, rather than solely grieve what had been lost. Clarke thought her dad might agree, anyway.

By the time they had made it to the beach and found a place to park, there were only scant minutes until sunset began in earnest, the sun already fast making its way to the horizon.

The four of them, towels in hand, clambered down the sandy steps, finding a spot and plopping down to watch the natural show. The sky was already beginning to fill with streaks of intense red and orange and pink, promising for another awe-inspiring sunset, and Lexa, as she glanced from the sky over to where Abby, Anya, and Clarke sat besides her, was powerfully reminded of that day trip they’d taken to the museum, months ago, when she had first realized the strength of her pull to the daughter of her foster parents. They’d gone to the beach that day, too. Lexa had been struck with a kind of envy, then, seeing the fondness and care Jake and Abby had for each other, wondering if she would ever have that. She’d wanted it. Someone to feel safe with. Safe _for_.

She’d found it.

She looked at Clarke. The girl was staring rapt at the sky, clearly taken in by the wondrous tableau. Lexa could almost see her fingers twitch, desiring her oils that she might try to capture it.

Clarke glanced over at her, perhaps feeling Lexa’s gaze on her, and smiled. Then, to Lexa’s surprise, she leaned into her, resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder. After a frozen moment, Lexa, holding her breath, dared to wind her arm around the girl. Clarke didn’t react past smiling up at her again, before returning her gaze to the sky, and Lexa — fighting the emotions building powerfully within her — followed her gaze.

The four of them sat there, watching the sun sink closer and closer to the horizon, preparing to drop behind the sea; the sky only grew more intense.

“I’m so proud of you girls,” Abby said suddenly, breaking the meditative silence into which they’d sunk. Anya, Clarke, and Lexa looked over at her, to see Abby watching them, her eyes shining bright.

“It’s been a hard year. But you all never let it beat you. And I’m just very proud. I know...I know I haven’t always met the challenge, but I want to try again, for you all.” She smiled, a little tremulous.. “As a wise person recently reminded me, it’s okay to miss Jake.” Lexa thought she saw Anya’s mouth twitch. “But,” Abby continued, “He would’ve wanted us to keep living, to move forward. So let’s try to do that, alright?” She turned to look out at the sky, where the sun was just beginning to make its slow disappearance. “For him.”

They murmured their assent, and Lexa watched as Clarke reached behind Anya to squeeze her mom’s hand. Abby just smiled at her, and then looked the three of them over. “My girls. You’re gonna be okay.”

Beyond her, the sun continued its descent, and they all turned to watch it go, Clarke holding her mom’s hand, resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa shared a glance with Anya — her sister’s gaze suspiciously bright — before looking back at the sky, a riot of streaks and colors.

The sun gave a final flash, once, twice, before disappearing entirely.

Lexa felt a flash of melancholy, at the ending of such a beautiful display. But as she watched it go, she felt lips press to her cheek, whisper-quick; when she looked down, Clarke was smiling at her. She couldn’t help but return it, a measure of hope lifting her spirits.

The day had ended. But life — for the four of them, for their friends and loved ones, for everyone they had yet to meet and all they had yet to experience — would go on.

There would be more sunsets.

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that brings us to the end of our narrative. Just an epilogue, set a little way down the road, remains. 
> 
> This story has been quite an undertaking and experience for me -- I certainly didn't expect it to stretch out to over a year and 100k words when I first started back in May '16! I've really enjoyed writing it, in all its ups and downs.
> 
> I set out to write a story about family: how we define it, decide who is in it, how it can hold together through loss and heartbreak. And the themes of acceptance, of love and pain and joy and everything else that comes with it.
> 
> To everyone that has kept up with it, thank you so much. I hope you've enjoyed it, and have appreciated your patience between the often (very) long periods between chapters.
> 
> I hope to post the epilogue early in the New Year. On that note, wishing everyone a merry Christmas, happy holidays, and a wonderful new year! Here's hoping 2018 will be a year to remember. 
> 
> It's been a pleasure.  
> lightfighter08


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute, hasn't it? Sorry y'all, I really wanted to get this out a lot sooner but it's as if the creative switch in my brain has been turned off since January, and I've had a hell of a time turning it back on again! But without further ado, let's check in on Clarke and Lexa and the gang, and see what they're up to a few years since we left them...

**Five Years Later**

"Clarke, can you get that?"

There was no reply, the ringing of the doorbell growing only more insistent in the silence.

"Clarke!"

Finally, the sound of stocking feet thumping down stairs made its way into the kitchen, Abby rolling her eyes as she stood at the island. "I thought I told you and Lexa to come down here!"

Clarke appeared in the kitchen entryway, looking flustered. "Uh, yeah, we just were, um, about to—"

Her admittedly weak excuse was interrupted by the doorbell, this time punctuated by impatient knocking. Abby sighed. "She's going to break the door down at this rate. Go." She lifted the tray of snickerdoodles she'd been preparing. "I need to get these into the oven."

Clarke dutifully set off for the front door, rolling her eyes as the knocking started anew. "Jesus, I'm coming! Chill out!"

She yanked the door open, meeting Anya's scowl with one of her own. "You know, all that ringing doesn't make me move any faster."

Anya sneered. "That would imply that anything does."

They held their glares for a moment, eyes narrowed and jaws fixed. And then, abruptly, the tension vanished, Anya's shoulders relaxing as Clarke started to laugh and not resisting when she pulled her into a hug. "You're such a jerk,” Clarke said as they parted. “Ditch us to roam the world for three months and this is what I get?”

Anya shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t want to make you think my travels had changed me.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "God forbid." She nodded towards the large duffel bag at Anya's feet. "Ready to quit the globetrotting life?"

"Is anyone?"

"True," Clarke admitted. "But don't tell Mom that, she's practically been counting down the days." She stood back. "Are you gonna stand there all night?"

Anya hefted her bag and stepped inside, blowing out a long breath as she gazed around the foyer. "Wow."

"Is it weird being back?"

"Well, yeah, and..." she waved vaguely around the room, taking in the mildly alarming amount of Christmas lights and decoration strung up, her beat up duffel looking decidedly out of place at the foot of the stairs. "I may have forgotten how all out you go."

"Lexa helped me," Clarke replied sweetly.

Anya snorted. "I'll bet she did."

Where Clarke once might have reddened or spluttered, years of weathering Anya’s little comments had had their effect, and she just raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. So you told Raven you were coming back, right?”

Anya scoffed, her cheeks flushing as if on cue, and Clarke thought a little smugly that though she may have toughened up, Anya in some ways was still just too easy. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“God, y’all’s little on-again, off-again thing will never cease to confuse me,” Clarke said as she turned to lock the door.

“It’s really none of your business,” she heard Anya grind out behind her.

“Uh huh,” Clarke said lightly. “Well, clearly the whole ‘lack of definition’ thing works for you two, and Raven’s equally infuriating whenever I try to talk to her about it.”

Clarke could’ve sworn she saw a flash of satisfaction cross Anya’s face, but the older girl refused to take the bait, and Clarke let out an aggravated sigh as they approached the kitchen. “Whatever. Lexa feels the same way, you know—”

“Anya!”

The rest of Clarke’s wheedling was cut short as Abby, a beaming smile on her face, crossed the kitchen in a few steps to envelop Anya in a warm embrace (which, Clarke noted with amusement, Anya, far from resisting, returned with equal fervor). “Hey, Dr. G.”

Abby pulled back after a moment, holding Anya out at arm’s length and examining her up and down, all business. “Let me look at you. Have you been eating well? You’re looking a little thin—”

“Aw, Dr. G, I’m fine—”

Clarke watched with growing amusement as her mom subjected Anya to a comprehensive post-travel inquisition, analyzing everything from meals to sleeping conditions to the slightest suggestion of symptoms the girl may have experienced as she backpacked her way across southeast Asia. (Considering Clarke had to endure a similar battery of questions for a measly weeklong spring break, her sympathy was limited.)

“…Well, alright,” Abby said finally, though her tone suggested that Anya was under medical observation for the next few days whether she liked it or not. “And did you have a good time?”

Clarke could hardly conceal her snort at this. Leave it to her mom to ask the most typical question only after ten or twenty others. Anya just smiled, though, enough real affection evident in the expression that it was clear she’d expected nothing less. “Yeah. It was great.”

They waited for her to go on. And waited. This went on. Finally, Clarke: “That’s it?”

Anya just looked at her, and Clarke went on, voice rising in exasperation, “You go backpacking from Vietnam all the way up to Nepal, for three _months_ , and all you can say is that it was… _great_?”

“What’s great?”

All heads turned to the far entryway, where Lexa now stood, wet hair twisted up into a towel and a curious expression on her face. Clarke sighed, giving up. “Your sister’s endless ability for obtuseness, obviously.”

Lexa looked askance at Anya, who was definitely smirking at this point but just waved a hand at her sister. “Hey, Lex.”

“An. Welcome back.” Smiling, Lexa met Anya halfway and the siblings exchanged a characteristically brief but intense hug; watching them, Clarke couldn’t help a smile of her own – these two would never be much for words, at least not between them. Some things never changed.

A sniffle caught her attention, and she turned to see her mom watching them as well, eyes shining. Seeing Clarke’s eyes on her, she smiled, the expression just a bit watery. “All my girls under one roof. It’s been too long.”

“It’s good to be back, Dr. G,” Anya replied as she and Lexa parted. “I’ve missed you guys.”

Naturally, this rare admission of emotion from Anya led to round of exaggerated “awws” from Lexa and Clarke as Abby hugged her all over again, and only Abby’s intervention preventing the now-scowling Anya from advancing menacingly on either of them. This done, Abby clapped her hands together decidedly, smoothly all business once more.

“Well! Anya, you must be starving. Why don’t you go freshen up while these two, who are both _finally_ downstairs,” she paused here to send a meaningful look at Clarke and Lexa, the latter predictably reddening under the weight of both Abby and Anya’s pointed stares, “help me finish up dinner.” After a moment she added, her voice wry, “And maybe then we can hear _just_ a little more about your trip.”

Anya snorted but delivered an ironic salute and “aye aye” before setting off to complete her orders, a smile spreading across her face as she turned away. It _was_ good to be back.

 

**

Dinner was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a raucous affair, everyone jockeying for talk time, speaking over one another and generally providing for a rather incomprehensible discussion. Everyone was interested in Anya’s adventures, naturally, with the addition of Clarke and Lexa’s not especially discreet inquiries about any possible gifts coming their way. The two of them, freshly returned from their fall semesters as college junior and senior, respectively, were also full of stories, misadventures, and bemoaning of final exams.

Abby gamely attempted moderating for a time, but after a while gave it up as pointless, content to watch the three of them talk over each other; she felt her lips curve as she took in each of the girls, marveling at how far they’d come in those five years since Jake had passed and their lives had changed forever.

The four of them hadn't been in the same place since August, when Clarke and Lexa took off for school, Anya leaving a month later to embark on her travels after working through the summer to build her savings; Abby had offered several times to simply foot the bill as a graduation present, but to the surprise of no one Anya had refused to hear a word of it.

No one was surprised either when Abby slipped her some cash at the airport, anyway. (As if she was going to let one of her girls get the last word in when it came to something like this.)

And anyway, she was too proud of Anya not to mark it in some way; the girl had exceeded all her expectations; applying herself first in community college, which Abby had carefully suggested might be a better, more manageable transition than going straight to university, and then successfully transferring to a state school as a junior. Abby had been worried, then, if only to herself, but Anya had quickly shown those fears to be unfounded, doing well in her classes and generally taking the whole thing more seriously than she ever had grade school. It seemed she had found a purpose, a source of inner focus.

And when Anya had told her, over the phone one night early in her junior year, that she intended to major in Biology, Abby could admit that she was pleased — and she was, so much she could burst — but not overly surprised. She'd always had a feeling Anya might find her way to medicine – underneath that tough exterior was a soul that cared fiercely, and a keen mind besides. And lord knew she’d solicited enough of Abby’s hospital stories, and visited her often enough at work, to indicate _some_ interest.

She had managed to do so, too, though Abby had had to talk her down over more than a few heated phone calls ranting about the inanities and needlessly complicated BS that made up organic chemistry.

And now she was back, a college graduate, ready to face the world. Abby wouldn’t press her now, either, but had an inkling that, in the next few days, Anya might decide to move forward again. Abby already knew exactly which MCAT class to recommend.

Her thoughts turned to Lexa as the girl in question unsuccessfully hid a smile behind her hand at some joke Clarke had cracked, prompting a fresh round of outrage and betrayal from Anya and not particularly gracious hoots of victory from Clarke. Out of the three of her girls, Lexa had always seemed the most focused. She had always known what she wanted to do, how she wanted to do it. Where Anya needed coaching and guidance, and Clarke oscillated between her fondness for science and the arts, Lexa had always her gaze set firmly on government. Not political office, not at all, but policy. The real behind-the-scenes work that changed people’s lives. And, Abby knew, could help better them. Especially those who could not help themselves.

Abby had made the same suggestion of community college and then transferring to Lexa that she had Anya, but hadn’t been overly surprised when the girl had politely turned her down. She had too much she wanted to do at university and was eager to get started – and with the host of grants and athletic and financial scholarships being offered to her, she had little reason to delay.

Abby had seen no reason to press the point; it was her decision, after all. And if the newly renewed awkwardness between Lexa and Clarke was a factor in Lexa’s decision, well, perhaps it was for the best (though she had the sense to not voice this opinion). Even now the full details of what exactly had happened were still unclear to her, the impressively complex relationship between her daughter and her onetime foster daughter never failing to confound her with yet another twist or turn (Raven had, with characteristically cheerful and slightly tone-deaf frankness, assured her this was normal and experienced by all Clarke-Lexa observers).

What she _had_ gathered, though, was that though they had managed to make serious strides in repairing their relationship around the time of Anya’s graduation from high school, and things seemed to be going well as the school year started, they had hit a snag again, and hardly seemed to be talking. And then Lexa was coming to her and telling her she planned to go straight to college, and what’s more, going to a school a few hours away. Abby had just been able to nod.

Despite all of it, though, Lexa, from what Abby could tell, flourished in college, thriving in the academic environment, being surrounded by new people and opportunities. Her weekly phone call was full of the clubs and events and classes and protests she was taking part in, the new friends she was making, and even in her concern Abby was elated at how clearly well-suited Lexa was to her new surroundings.

And then, strangely and to Abby’s immense relief, some time after Lexa had left, and Clarke had a few weeks of moping, she began to get…better. Lighter, as if some unseen weight was lifted, and she had space to breathe. She went out more with Raven and Wells, and the Blake siblings, and generally seemed to have a new lease on life. She began to draw again.

Just when Abby thought she had things figured out, though, Lexa came home for winter break, and instead of the near hostility that had been in the air when she had left, the two of them were oddly shy and tentative around each other. Anya had openly laughed at Abby’s clearly mystified exasperation after the third glance-and-blush she had witnessed between them, but who could blame her? The state of affairs between them seemed to operate on a frequency only they could read.   

Abby had, at this point, given up all hope of figuring out the two of them, and was therefore not at all surprised when Clarke announced, some months before her graduation, that of all the schools she had gotten into, she intended to go to the same state school as Lexa.

Needless to say, Abby had had her reservations. But Clarke had withstood the subsequent interrogation, and with no obvious warning signs raised, Abby had no real grounds to object.

But things had, to her relief, more or less seemed to turn out okay. Clarke had evidently also taken well to college, her grades and dutiful photos and reports of her life making that clear, and after her first year in the dorms, had announced, in conjunction with Lexa, that clearly the most economical and practical choice was for them to…move in together.

Abby had, at this point, massaged her temples and made it clear that one, they were getting a two-bedroom, two, this was not up for discussion, and three, they were to follow the house rules she’d laid down ages ago whenever they were visiting home.

They had had the sense to just meekly nod.

But she could admit they made a good couple. It was what made it hard to actually get mad at them, or try to forbid them from seeing each other (good luck with that), or whatever else. They always had, even when it was the last thing the two of them should’ve been doing. They complemented each other so well, encouraging the best in each other and blunting the other’s sharper edges.

And they seemed to make each other happy.

More than anything else, that was just was just what she wanted. For them all.

“Mom…? Hello?”

Abby started, her thoughts dissipating as she looked to see all three of them staring at her. “Hmm?”

Clarke exchanged glances with Anya and Lexa. “Uh, I dunno, you were just like really out of it. Super deep in your thoughts.”

Anya smirked at her with more than a little mischief. “Thinking about someone? About…” she pretended to think for a moment, tapping her chin dramatically, “Hmm, I dunno, Kane?”

Abby cursed inwardly as her face warmed, knowing from the way the girls broke into laughter that she was reddening. “Anya, as I’ve told you several times, Marcus is…is a very nice man, and I do like him, but we’ve only gone to dinner a few times now and—”

“—and you can’t stop thinking about him?” Anya finished, her smirk now transformed into a full-fledged shit-eating grin.

Abby sighed as the girls cracked up again. It was true: Marcus was a very nice man, and had been, in the immediate months after Jake’s death, and the years following, an invaluable resource. He was the one who had first made her face her grief, when she was running from it, and who had encouraged her to take all the time she needed to get her house in order. Before all this, she, to be honest, had thought of him as a bit of a, well, hardass, but something had changed after Jake had died. She didn’t know if he was making a conscious effort to be more compassionate, or if she was just seeing another side of him, but he had slowly but surely become one of her main pillars of support, and done so without ever making her feel like she owed him or he was doing her a favor. They had become friends, and then, in the last year or two…maybe something more.

She didn’t know. And she was in no hurry to rush things; the complete opposite in fact. She had her daughter, and two surrogate daughters to worry about, and it was only the fact that they were old enough now to mostly take care of themselves that made her even consider it.

That, and the knowledge that it had been five long years since Jake had died. She missed him every day, and could never replace him. Didn’t even want to. But that didn’t mean she had to stop living. That it was Clarke who had reminded her of this, one summer when she had been home from school, had given her the courage to be at least open to the idea.

And she did like Marcus.

But in the meantime – her girls were currently having way too much fun with this, Anya especially. Good thing she knew exactly how to shut it down. “So, Anya…” She waited until they had quieted a bit. “Raven knows you’re back in town, right?’

She sat back with a satisfied smile as Clarke and Lexa burst into delighted laughter and Anya groaned. Honestly, sometimes it was just too easy.

 

**

“God, shopping at this time of the year is the _worst_.”

Lexa couldn’t help but smile at how disgruntled Clarke sounded. The grocery store was indeed crammed with people, the frazzled air and wild-eyed gazes of many of them suggesting that last-minute holiday shopping for the wave of incoming guests was getting to be a little much. But, luckily, “We’re only here for a few things, Clarke.”

Clarke snorted, waving the list Abby had pressed into her hands as they’d been caught trying to escape the house for a bit. “Since when is ten things a few?! I swear she just waited for us to come so we could do all the shopping.”

“It’s the least we can do – she’s the one who does most of the actual cooking, remember?”

“No, no, no,” Clarke said resolutely, shaking her head, “I will hear none of your sensible and levelheaded propaganda. Now let’s find—” she looked at the list and wrinkled her nose, “—the asparagus and everything else so we can get the hell outta here.”

Lexa just smiled. Despite her grumblings, everyone knew Clarke absolutely loved the holidays, and would gladly suffer an hour in a crowded grocery store to aid the cause. And was walking around a store hand in hand, a banal activity made pleasurable by how utterly normal it was (with the added bonus of being able to kiss in random aisles without Anya around to suddenly appear and loom) really that bad?

Even if they _had_ been caught trying to sneak out.

Not that, at this point in their lives, they really needed to sneak (though it did, Lexa had to admit, add a certain thrill to the whole affair). They were mercifully removed from the admittedly reckless teenagers they’d once been and, Lexa hoped, a bit more stable.

It hadn’t been an easy road to get here, though; the last five years had certainly had their share of challenges.

Despite their best attempts in her last year of high school to hit the reset button, and just see where things took them, it had proved to still be too early, for both of them. Despite their best intentions and genuine feelings, not enough time had passed, the house around them still containing too many memories. While not as excruciatingly immediate and painful as it had once been, all that had transpired was still too fresh.

It had been Lexa who had finally called it, a few months shy of graduation. They were trying too hard, and the signs of strain had been all too obvious. Even then Lexa had known that if they continued on like this, they really would lose each other – for good. So she had made the decision for the both of them, difficult as it had been. Clarke had argued, and yelled, and been pissed, but Lexa had stood firm. It was too soon. Any more of this and they would break, and that, Lexa refused to accept.

Clarke hadn’t taken it very well; needless to say, the last months of the school year had been more than a little awkward. Though Lexa had already known that she wanted to go straight to university, she couldn’t help but be a little relieved and reaffirmed in her decision. Sharing a floor with someone who was hardly talking to you tended to start to wear. When it was someone you desperately cared about, it was all the worse.

But that was exactly the point. Their relationship, if it was ever to last and succeed, couldn’t _be_ desperate. Desperation was not an emotion healthy relationships were built on, or so she’d been told.

Still, leaving had been difficult. Clarke had, in the last few days before her departure, seemingly decided to put her resentment aside, and for a time it was almost as it had been, before the upset and the strain and everything else. It simultaneously made her sad for what had been, and hopeful for what could be.

So, she had left. And, despite everything, including the first few weeks of homesickness and loneliness, she found that she loved college. Everything about the new atmosphere appealed to her, and she began to realize just how oppressive being home (because it _was_ her home) with the Griffins had become. It wasn’t even anything anyone had done. She just needed some space to breathe.

But she never forgot Clarke. Even as she met so many new people, including many interesting girls who smiled at her a lot, it was impossible to put the girl out of her mind, even with their relationship in limbo. Without fail, she sent the girl at text or two a week, never anything deep, just a funny video or asking how she was.

At first, Clarke hardly replied, if at all. Lexa was undeterred; it was more to let Clarke know she was there for her, that even if she had left, she still cared. That the distance was just temporary, and for the best.

She was right. Slowly but surely, Clarke started to reply to more of her messages, and even if she made it clear in her initial replies that she was still pissed, it was better than nothing.

But slowly that anger began to fade; it was clear to Lexa (if not to Clarke) that just having their own space for a bit, and being in new environments, was what they had needed all along. Clarke began to volunteer information about her senior year, about the art fair she was thinking of signing up for, how therapy was going and the latest amusing misadventures with Raven, Wells in tow. Gradually, their exchanges got longer and longer, until they were having what could only be described as conversations, talking on the phone at least several times a week. And it was surprisingly refreshing. Oddly, despite being in different places, with different things going on, she’d never found it easier to talk to Clarke; it was as if, without the baggage of their surroundings and environment heavy with memories, they could just get back to what had originally drawn each to the other. It was, she could admit to herself, like falling all over again.

When she came home at winter, she was surprisingly nervous. Sure, they were speaking again, but did that really mean anything, in the grand scheme of things? Would it matter when they were face to face, in person once more?

She needn’t have worried. When she walked into the house and looked up to see Clarke coming down the stairs, it was that first glimpse she’d ever caught of the girl all over again, the air totally gone from the room.

Only this time, it seemed mutual.

And things, well…they had gone from there.

Clarke still didn’t think it was very funny when Lexa made jokes about breaking up being “the best thing that had ever happened to them,” though.

“Hey, what kind of milk did Mom want?”

“Hmm?” Lexa looked to see Clarke examining the rows of milk, and dug the shopping list out of her jacket, stuffed there after Clarke had declared she couldn’t look at it anymore. “Oh, uh, whole.”

“Got it.” Clarke retrieved the dairy product in question and dropped it in the cart triumphantly, examining everything they’d collected so far. “Finally! And now for the actually important stuff—”

She grabbed the cart and was veering wildly down the aisle before Lexa could even react. “Clarke—?”

The girl was gone. Lexa sighed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know where her girlfriend had gone, where she _always_ ended up when they went grocery shopping. She headed to the frozen section, sighing again at the sight of Clarke gleefully surveying the ice cream, rubbing her hands together. “Lex! They have Half-Baked _and_ Milk and Cookies! We’ve hit the jackpot, baby!”

“Clarke…” Lexa began, slowly approaching her, hands outspread, the same way one might approach a potentially hostile wild animal. “You already put two boxes of brownie mix in the cart, and we have ice cream at home…”

Clarke glared at her, hands already somehow full of pints of both flavors. “Lexa, it’s _Christmas_.”

“Yes, but, that…doesn’t….” she gave up at the flat look Clarke gave her. “Pick _one_.”

After a long, long moment of tortured soul-searching, Clarke placed the Half-Baked in the cart, putting the other away with entirely more sorrow than Lexa thought was necessary. “Honestly, I don’t even know where you put it all.” Especially at finals. Finals-week-Clarke could eat entire pints in one sitting while watching biology lectures. It was somewhat alarming.

“You underestimate my ice cream eating abilities,” Clarke replied, deadly serious.

“Um, entirely possible,” said Lexa, slightly unnerved.

“Raven is the only one who properly appreciates this stuff,” Clarke said sadly. “I miss her.”

“Same, but at least she’s doing really cool stuff.” It was true. Raven, who to the surprise of no one, including herself, had received and accepted a full-ride for mechanical engineering at MIT, wasn’t coming home for most of winter break, some suspiciously vague but “cool as fuck, Clarke, seriously” research keeping her in Cambridge. “She’ll be back in time for New Years, though!”

“Yeah…” Clarke smirked suddenly. “I wonder if we tell her that Anya’s back in town, she’ll come back sooner?”

Lexa laughed. “I’m sure she already knows. She originally wasn’t coming back at all, remember?”

“Ha, yeah. Ugh, I need to debrief with Wells about this.” She glanced at her phone. “He’s getting in tomorrow – did I tell you he’s bringing his girlfriend?”

“No, really?”

“Yup. She sounds nice, can’t wait to meet her.” A glint of mischief entered Clarke’s eyes. “And especially can’t wait to see Mr. Jaha’s reaction.”

Lexa winced at the thought of the slightly overbearing Thelonious Jaha. “I think I’ll skip that part.”

Clarke shrugged. “Meh, Wells has been hiding her for way too long. It’s about time.”

“If you say so…” The mention of time prompted Lexa to pull out her phone. “Shit, Clarke, we need to get going. We’re going with Anya and Abby today, remember?”

Clarke sobered. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”

Lexa cast a sideways glance at her. “You still up for it today?”

Clarke nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s…let’s do it.”

Lexa didn’t press the point. Some things were better left unaddressed.

As Clarke began to push the cart to checkout, though, Lexa suddenly paused, doubling back to the ice cream. She stared at the cartons for a moment, and then, shaking her head at herself, reached in and grabbed the flavor Clarke had put back. She was such a sap sometimes, honestly.

She appeared at checkout just in time to hand the ice cream to the cashier, glancing at Clarke and seeing the slow smile spread across her face. A second later, her hand reached out, intertwining with Lexa’s.

Maybe Lexa _was_ a sap, but it was always worth it.

 

**

The cemetery was almost empty when they arrived, the cold day — as cold as Southern California ever got, anyway — having perhaps deterred any other would-be visitors. Clarke saw, as they entered through the ivy-covered gates, an elderly lady a few rows away, kneeling in front of a grave; beyond her was a middle aged man, standing in front of another tombstone, bouquet hanging limply at his side. Who were they visiting, she wondered, who had they lost, compelled them to visit them so close to Christmas? Perhaps, like her, their holidays would never quite be the same, would always have something a bit lacking.

But that was life.

Lexa’s hand, though not quite sweaty, was gripping hers more and more tightly; though Lexa had always managed to face death squarely and with grace, in a way that was amazing to Clarke, Clarke knew she had a slight aversion to cemeteries – an effect, perhaps, of having to visit them so young, with the death of her parents. A glance at Anya confirmed the other sister wasn't faring much better, her face set and stony.

Clarke also knew that Lexa would never miss this, no matter the aversion. It was too important. To her and to all of them.

Her breath caught as their destination came into view; it always did. It didn't matter if had been five months or five years; she thought that the sight of her father’s grave would have the same effect fifty years on.

But despite that sadness and the clenching of her heart, the wave of terrible grief, of loss so deep that one could never hope to come out from under it, did not come crashing down. She waited like always, as if it was creeping up on her, but it did not come. Instead, along with that sadness was a certain…stillness.

It was strange to think that visiting her dad’s grave would bring her any sort of calm, and it had taken a long time to reach this point. Clarke couldn’t always achieve it, but sometimes, she could come here and just…be. Remember what it was like to be Jake Griffin’s daughter. And in that remembrance, feel some shade of his presence.

Maybe it _was_ weird for that to be comforting, but Clarke had given up trying to make any sense of her grieving process long ago.

They reached the site and simply looked at the gravestone for a moment, none breaking the silence. There was no need to talk; the words carved into the marble filled the space.

JACOB MATTHEW GRIFFIN

1972-2018

Beloved father, husband, and friend

Clarke stared at the inscription, wondering, not for the first time, how so few words could say so much. Father, husband, and friend. Yes, her dad had been all of those things, and managed to excel in them all. He had been the glue of their family, the passing of some time and distance allowing her to reflect on that thought without the sharp pain it might've once brought with it.

When her dad had died, Clarke's perception of her family and even some parts of herself had died with him. It had felt like a one way street with no possibility of return.

Well. That part _had_ proved to be true; there was no way to return, to make things as they'd once been.

And yet. She looked over at her mom, Anya, and Lexa, taking in their expressions: Lexa stoic as ever, Anya almost scowling in the way she did when she was tamping down some other emotion, her mom lost in thought, or maybe memory.

Looking at them, she could almost smile. Lexa and Anya had found their way to the Griffins, and then, helped Clarke and her mom find their way back to each other. And…she sneaked a glance at Lexa. They had been able to do the same.

It was a work in progress, but she – they – had learned that maybe there were ways to still be a family. Not as it had been, but…something new. And maybe, something that could be equally as real, as powerful. Something to hold on to.

Just maybe.

“I’ll go first, then?”

Abby broke the silence, shaking them all from their thoughts. Clarke nodded at her, and Abby cleared her throat, looking at the tombstone contemplatively again for speaking. “Hi, Jake. It’s hard to believe it’s Christmas again, but here we are. The girls are all here for the holidays and it’s so nice to have them home. We’re missing you, of course…”

And so it went, each of them taking turns speaking to Jake, any update or reflection or simply a funny story they wished for the man, gone for years now but still such a presence in their lives, to hear. It had been Lexa, on the first anniversary of his death, who had impulsively spoken to his grave when they had all gone to visit at Christmas, and since then the four of them had adopted it as a solemn tradition. Though they all could, and did, visit the cemetery on their own terms whenever they wished, and remember him however they wanted on those occasions, on this annual visit, no one hesitated to take part. It was important.

When everyone else had spoken and it came to her, Clarke took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. And the end of the day, this was just her, talking to her dad. She’d done this thousands of times. “Hi, Dad.”

 

Afterwards, she lingered at the site as the rest of them turned away and began the journey back to the parking lot. She didn’t have a reason to stay behind, really. But it had been five years, and she couldn’t tear herself away just yet. She just wanted to…remember.

“Clarke?”

She turned to see Lexa approaching and offered a wan smile in return.

Lexa stepped up to her, cautious, and placed a gentle hand on her back. “Are you alright?”

Looking at her, Clarke felt a warm glow swell in her chest. After all this time, she wasn’t surprised that her girlfriend immediately noticed her hesitance and turned back; it was Lexa, after all, one of the most caring and gentle people Clarke had ever known. The girl Clarke had fallen in love with. Surprising Lexa and even herself, she leaned in and kissed her, trying to express all the emotion suffusing her.

She pulled back after a few moments to see Lexa’s eyes shut; when she managed to open them a few seconds later, she blinked a few times as if to get back her bearings before raising her eyebrows playfully at Clarke. “Uh, wow. What was that for?”

Clarke shrugged. “Nothing. I just love you, you know?”

Lexa’s gaze softened – they didn’t say it very often, but was always understood. “I love you too.” She glanced at the grave and then back at Clarke, taking her hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Clarke smiled again, this time more genuine. “Yeah…yeah. I’m good.”

Lexa studied her before smiling back, looping an arm around her shoulders. “Okay. Are you ready to go?”

Clarke took a last glance at the grave and then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

They turned away, Clarke leaning into Lexa as they began to follow the path Anya and Abby had taken, ready to go home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me on this little journey. This story has occupied headspace for the last two years of my life, so it is with much happiness (and a little relief) that I lovingly put it to a close. I've so appreciated everyone's thoughts along the way, and would love to hear what you thought here as we reach the end.


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